As usual, I was the last to leave. I packed up my laptop and began to hump the ridiculous amount books on the desk back to various shelves around the library. As I picked up the last few, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor causing my heart to jump. What would it say this time?
Every evening for the last two weeks, always as I was leaving, I'd find a note tucked into my books. I never saw who anyone around who could have left them and they were pretty much exactly the same. A song lyric, unsigned and written in aquamarine ink.
I unfolded it, my hands trembling, and read the words. '"You're the book I kept open" - Unfinished Sympathy'. As always, the writing was impeccable and left no clue as to who the author could possibly be. Excited and frustrated at the same time, I folded it back up and carefully tucked it away with the others.
I couldn't help but think of anything other than the notes. It was all I had thought about for days. The lyrics were the only clue I had. Whoever was writing to me, obviously loved music of all kinds. Some of the lines were so obscure, I'd had to google them.
As flattered as I was, I was also a little freaked out and wished that whoever it was would just reveal their identity to me, give me the opportunity to make my own mind up about them one way or the other... or did I? The thought of knowing made me shiver in... anticipation? Fear? I wasn't sure, but it was about time I had answers.
YOU ARE READING
Flash FictionShort Story
A selection of flash fiction pieces I've written in between working on my publishable works. Usually from a writing exercise to help me work through block. Each piece is a standalone and isn't continued in the next part - what you see is what you g...