This week I will be posting flash fiction pieces I have written within the past year for a great writing collaborative that is now laid to rest. My dear friends over at JuiceBox Confession and Navigator, Equator birthed LT 2.0 and in appreciation for it, please enjoy.
This was the first flash fiction piece I wrote for Literary Traces back in April of 2013. I discovered that I loved deadlines and that flash fiction is my niche in the writing world.
It’s amazing that I could still hear the screams of terror. Or maybe that was just the sound of the speed of my fall racing past my ears. I didn’t know how long this weightless demise would last. I was certain that I would die. You know, you hear those freak-chance sky-dive accidents where the girl lands flat on her back, lives and turns out…she’s pregnant. Yes, the baby lives too. One in a fucking million. I’m not going to live.
I look up and around me and see others falling too. A Woman clinging to her too-young-to-die child. An old man that looks already limp. Low cabin pressure is my bet. Lucky man. Many more, and frankly I don’t give a shit. Pieces of the plane and debris from the collision fall like the ground is what’s moving, not it. My tie keeps whipping me in the face and I find it annoying. I take it off. It’s torn out of my hand by the sheer velocity I’m traveling.
I start to do the math. If I’m five miles in the air and I weigh 160 lbs then that would mean that I’m traveling at 125 miles per an hour. 12,000 feet per a minute. Two minutes to live since my body left the plane. Likely one minute now.
This flight was my ticket out. Clean slate. Fresh start. All those damn clichés. Take your pick. No one knew what I did. No one would ever find me if they ever discovered it was me. I’d never have to spend a day in a prison cell held captive by my own dirty deeds. The weight of the sky would be my burden to bear for my life. This was not in the plans, however. Dying on the way out.
Quickly the blurry earth becomes more defined. I see property lines separated by different, darker colors. Houses. Buildings. Lakes. Rivers. Trees. A few blinks and it would be over. No one will hear my final words but I’m too self serving to not…
“I KILLED JULIA WESTON!”