Trembling over her, afraid to touch, Marcus never saw her face. Her chestnut hair is what he’ll remember. And the crimson nimbus of blood spreading across the asphalt.
She had barely squeezed into the last space ahead of him. The tail car of the accelerating trolley, snapping around the corner, flung her carelessly from the overcrowded bench in a merciless game of Crack-the-Whip.
Confused, the trolley driver stopped at the horrified shouts, saw her facedown with passersby swooping in to settle around her like Serengeti vultures.
Shaken, he started the trolley moving again, dropped off the students, and returned to the depot to wait.
4 thoughts on “Last Seat — Flash Fiction”
Nice… Aren’t all games of Crack-the-Whip merciless?
You have a point — though I’m sticking with some are more so than others.
Omg this is really good – one of my favorites!! How do you say so much with so few words?
I try to tell a story in roughly 100 words, so I have to figure out what to include and exclude while giving it an arc. So, to paraphrase an author I studied under named Ron Carlson, with limited space to work with, I draw an incomplete circle but I give you enough of it so your mind fills in the rest and sees a circle. I’ve always been good at small scenes. It’s the bigger stuff that causes me problems ha ha.