Windleston Street

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


I woke up from the noise of the wheels and the world stirring around me. Pressing my sleepy eyes with the back of my hands, I weakly rose to my feet and ascertained that I slept the entire night on Windleston Street. I looked around in utter surprise. Everyone seemed not to care at all. Not even one had spared a little time to just simply have a glance at me. Nearby a television was mumbling of a crime. But I took no heed. It didn’t matter after all. I had to know why I was here. My mind seemed to be a blank slate at this point of time.

Slowly I weaved my way to a wooden bench nearby. My head was aching so bad. The somesthesia stirred crazily anywhere in my head, doing me up like a burning discomfort. My forehead furrowed deeper. This lingering pain was unbearable to a fault. What could be the cause of this pain?!

In no time, the question that had long been screwing up my swoon psyche was answered. Like oil, a few lines of warm liquid trickled down my face. It reached my cheeks down to my jaw and generously dripped and dripped and dripped to blot my white shirt in red hue. But it was blood! I touched my forehead and found there a clean bloody hole gawking like mouth.

Immediately, I dashed for a medical foundation at close quarters. I must be treated immediately before everything was too late for me.

I continued running. I had never been this fast before. My heart was pounding so hard. I moved my head around. Still no one dared to help me. I passed by a mirror shop. I slowed down a little to check on my wound clearly.

But…wait! What could be happening? The mirror…the mirror showed no reflection of me. I had no reflection. I had no reflection in any of the looking glasses!

The television inside the shop once again murmured something about a crime. It was an exclusive news, following the death of a high school student.

And before I could utter my saddest cry, a light so bright that could blind a blind has already gripped upon my soul and carried me into the swirling pit of uncertainty.


Submitted: October 29, 2019

© Copyright 2022 Sherwin French C. Anson. All rights reserved.

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