A Day in April

Reads: 197  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

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


One hundred hushed and hurried conversations create a mysterious murmur in every corner of Gotham’s rail station late afternoon of April 14th. Footsteps, light and swift, sound like the soft brush on a hi-hat in a downtown jazz club.  Smoke from Pall Malls, Lucky Strikes, and Chesterfields hangs over anxious commuters hurrying to trains out of the city to sanctuary in the suburbs away from Gotham with its unsavory criminal element and the atmosphere of danger clinging in the air like so much cigarette smoke. Outside taxis and trams disgorge more citizens, also fleeing fear and foul play.  They pour into the station ready to ride rails to suburban safety. 

 

Inside a loud voice calls over loudspeakers with electric energy and urgent ululations. His vocalizations cutting through clouds of smoke and conversational susurrus in the vast cathedral of carriage. His was an announcer’s voice, like one would hear at a racetrack calling out the entries for the next race, the jockeys, the distance to be covered. However in Gotham’s terminal these are steel steeds of the rails, not horses. These are platforms, not post positions. These are station stops, not the colors of silks. This is the vocabulary of the voice. A simple but important urban/suburban code for commuters: “Trainfiveyonkersschenectadyandpointsnorthnowontrackfiveallaboard!” 

moving many to make their manic way to the designated platform. 

 

One tall man, well dressed, holds an important looking briefcase. His steady gaze is steady under his stylish and business-like fedora as he speaks to a smaller woman, equally well dressed.  She also sports stylish millinery and stylish coat worn that afternoon to ward off the coming chill of evening. The two make an interesting couple, they are mother and son. They seem to be arguing, hardly audibly, but hardly angrily. 

 

As we listen in and begin to catch some of the conversation. The woman looks up at her companion, speaks softly but forcefully with an edge to her words. She seems to be concerned and is expressing some kind of worry. 

 

“I’m worried,” she expresses. “You shouldn’t be out on the street after dark, it’s too dangerous my boy.”

 

“Mother,” says the son, “I’ll be safe and I will be careful, I promise.” 

 

She reaches into her purse, a period piece of pearls and embroidery, and starts to draw out a bill.  It looks like five dollars. “Mother, that’s too much, I have money. Really I don’t need it.” She scolds him, “don’t tell me that, I want you to take a taxi tonight. The streets have unsavory criminal elements and I can feel danger in the air.” He shakes his fedorad head. 

 

She sighs, “Melvin, why are you doing this? Why are you taking that train at this hour, you’ll get back late and I worry about criminals and gangsters on the streets. Why Melvin?”

 

“Mother, I must. Even superheroes need to file their taxes,” Melvin says and motions to the mezzanine. “For I am Batman’s accountant.”


Submitted: April 28, 2020

© Copyright 2021 D M Flynn. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:


Facebook Comments

More Flash Fiction Writing Contests

Boosted Content from Other Authors

Short Story / Non-Fiction

Book / Mystery and Crime

Writing Contest / Flash Fiction

Other Content by D M Flynn

Writing Contest / Flash Fiction