Flash Fiction

I sat on the line as I so often did. One for you, one for me, one for you, one for me and so on it went. My friend and I picking out lives. We had done this since time immemorial. An equal number for each side. The decisions were supposed to be on which one I liked and which one my friend liked. The line that we sat at was the line of life.

‘I just can’t get the ending right…’, I thought. I’d spent the last 6 months cooped up in my basement writing, it could wait a few more hours. Frustrated, I headed out to the neighborhood coffee shop with my ream of papers (white legal pads with yellow post it’s all over). I was half way through a latte and eying the cookies from my perch on a bar stool at the store window when my glance met hers.

I woke up to the daily hum drum of the cleaning lady. It was one in a series of weekday mornings I couldn’t quite recollect. Which one was this? My life is a series of unavoidable chores to be done one followed by another. Thursday! Yes thats what it was. This dreary gray sky laden with white rainless clouds could be nothing else. Somewhere in the beginning of the current month I think.