Flash-Fiction

Heatwaves

Heatwaves

The room radiated with hot, stuffy air. It was thick like fog, as it hung in the room, lingering the heat around the room. Soft music was humming in my headphones, a soft tune flowing through my mind as I mindlessly took pieces of clothing out of my stuffed closet.

Sweat prickled on my skin, seeping into my clothes. Sweat dripped from my forehead, beads as big as bullets fell one after one. They clung to my brows, the slimy feeling endorsing into my skin. It was unbearably warm, and it was sticky as it clung onto my clothes like claws. My arm was slick, as sweat rolled down my arm, falling onto the ground.

The grunts of the AC could be heard in the background. I groaned, wiping a bead of sweat off my eyelash as it broke, once again. I sighed, falling onto the spruce floor. The floor was almost mushy and soft, due to the moist air that coated the entirety of Florida.

My head fell to my knees, as the soft humming tuned out of my head. The room was now an eerie, radio silence. The empty, white walls were now crumpling the paint flicking off the concrete walls. In the corner of my room, as a messy, tousled bed. The sheets were hard ripped off, soaking with sweat from the night before. The blankets were thrown across the room, spread out like a blanket of white snow.

Oh how I wish I could feel snow.

I sighed, the suffocating, moist air hacked at my lungs. Clothes dishevel onto the floor, discarded like pieces of trash. I felt uneasy, lightheaded almost. My arms were sore, like I had dragged a thousand-ton monster across the Atlantic Ocean. My brain fuzzy, like the heat had turned to a sponge and inserted itself into my head, sucking out all my motivation.

I pushed myself up, kicking the black suitcase out of my sight. The thought of packing and hoping onto the plane to London was ever so tempting, but I had about just enough of packing today. I brought my hands to my face, pushing my dirty blond out of my sweaty face.

I willed my lead like legs to walk towards the window, pushing it open with a thud.

I let out a breath, as cold, fresh wind flowed through the window.

I fished in my pocket, taking out a crumpled plane ticket.

This is for you George

I groaned, dreading the plane ride, the packing, but the exhilaration of meeting George was just too accelerating.

The cold air soothing my thoughts, I brought the headphones back onto my head.

"Sometimes all I think about is you, late nights in the middle June."

Taking in a sharp breath, a flanged out my suitcase. I stuffed shirt after shirt, trousers after trousers into the suitcase. My mind went haze, my arms randomly grabbing whatever lay around me. My suitcase looked like a bomb had exploded in it, and hyenas had come to scavenge for food. I looked away, biting my lip as my hurriedly closed the suitcase.

Kissing my teeth, I rushed out the door.