Flash Fiction: Secrets

I’ve been meaning to post a new flash fiction for ages – finally, here it is! Inspired by a photograph of a letter and a mysterious key. They seem full of secrets.


Now that I’d reached the back of Gran’s closet, cleaning it out became slightly less painful. Like pressing on a bruise instead of stabbing with a hot needle. The dresses and skirts here were old items, obviously treasured, but I had no memories of her wearing them. I pulled out a black dress beaded with jet and flecks of silver. It could have belonged to a stranger, for I’d never seen it before. It smelled faintly of potpourri, the last ghostly linger of perfume.

I laid the dress on the stripped bed, smoothing my fingertips over the straight skirt. I could picture Gran as a flapper, sort of – I’d seen pictures of her with a sleek bob and matte lipstick. The short fringe dangling from the dress’s hem would have swished and trembled with each shimmy of the wearer’s hips, and I smiled to think of Gran dancing in it.

That smile turned into another pulse of pain, mourning sharp in my veins, leaving a salty taste in my mouth. I’d never again hear Gran singing Edith Piaf as she baked strawberry pie, or humming as she picked flowers from her garden to donate to the hospital. That emptiness ached, squeezing the air from my lungs, closing my throat.

I lifted the dress to my cheek, as if it could somehow bring me closer to her again. The fabric crackled under my cheek, which lead me to discover a hidden pocket, cleverly sewn at the hip and just large enough to hold a small piece of paper, folded four times. The heavy creases had grown soft as silk over the years, and I opened the paper with caution, afraid of tearing it. The once-black ink had faded to tea-stain brown, but I could still read the narrow script.

Rosie, it began, addressed to Gran:

After tonight, we’ll never have to see each other again. The plan hasn’t changed, but the time is confirmed. Create a distraction at exactly 9:05. Make sure the back door is unlocked before that. The diary will be hidden at our usual meeting place, and you may reclaim it any time after tonight.

I don’t think I need to say that this secret never leaves us two.

J

My mouth gaped. This mysterious letter didn’t seem as if it could have anything to do with sweet, unselfish Gran. Did it refer to a crime? Worriedly, I checked the other side of the dress for more letters, and instead discovered a hard, tiny bump. I almost tore the skirt’s lining in my attempt to get it free, and then I held a small metal key in my hand. One that would probably unlock a diary.

I gingerly placed the key and the letter on the bedside table. I knew where the diary was. I’d found it once years ago, while playing dress up with Gran’s shoes. She made me promise to never say anything, and I’d childishly agreed, putting it from my mind for the promise of a trip to the park.

If I read it, anything I learned could never be forgotten. Curiosity yanked me toward the diary, nestled in a shoebox, but fear held me back. The contents of the diary could change my view of Gran, snatching her away even more than death already had. My teeth fretted at my lip.

Eventually, I burnt the letter in a green tea scented candle I found on her dresser. I shoved the diary key into my pocket, and turned back to the closet. The tiny key poked me as I moved, its edges sharp, its presence unforgettable.


 

This flash fiction was full of surprises for me. First, it’s longer than I expected. I also meant for this to be a nice story, about someone discovering a pleasant secret about a lost loved one, and it morphed into something ominous. I think indecision is one of the worst feelings, and I’ve been mulling over a couple things in my own life recently, so maybe that’s a factor.

Have a great week, everybody!

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