Flash Fiction: You Should Be Reading

Just Short

   It was the summer of the oncoming Sophomore year when I saw her. Little legs dangling from a tree, pale as the snow on Christmas Eve. Her chestnut hair waved in the wind with the leaves. Her expression told me she was in her world, her grand escape. Who is she?

   I approached her that summer day and became the best of friends with a piece of art. Her height was significantly shorter than mine, and she said she was just short. Maybe it was just a genetic thing.

   Over the years, we drew closer and bonded through great and bad times. The end of our junior year came faster than we had anticipated and came with it a terrible predicament. Words became sharper than knives, expressions harder than rocks. Our friendship stopped sailing there.

   Senior year came up in a flash, but was the darkest and loneliest of them all. I hardly saw her around anymore. News came to me that she had moved over the summer. I was just short of saying goodbye.

   I succeeded my father into the police force and surpassed him into the S.W.A.T. team. A call is brought in about a hostage situation. Naturally, my team and I respond to it. At arrival, my heart couldn't believe my eyes. Chestnut hair and snow pale skin. It was like summer all over again. Except she was close to death and in tears.

   Years pass, and I find myself walking down the lonely path in the drizzling rain. The thorns cut through the paper into my hand, but I dont care. Here lies Rose Jamie 1983-2003. Death by bullet through the head. As I lay the blood red roses down, I can't help but think I was just short.