Flash Fiction Anthology

Mont Saint-Michel

Anastasia put her heavy shopping bags on the floor in front of her flat. Finding the key in her handbag was never too easy, a mission impossible with her hands full.

She searched impatiently through the large quantity of small things she always carried inside her oversized bag, objects she never really used. A habit that Ana had developed when her now grown-up daughter was still a small girl. Finally, under the mountain of packs of wet wipes, some packets of tissues, a couple of cereal bars, too many spare hair bands and a box of chewing gums, she found it.

Feeling victorious, she unlocked the door and half dragged, half carried the shopping inside. Her timid smile, caused by the flood of memories brought back by the things found in her handbag, disappeared fast. Yet again, she realised that there was no one else, waiting for her at home with open arms, but silence. She still missed the light patter of small feet running on the carpet, as soon as she unlocked the door, followed by a happy, "Hi mummy, I missed you!" The happy, welcoming sounds that would never return.

Anastasia switched on the lights to feel a little less alone, and walked in the kitchen, followed only by her own shadow. After a moment she decided to put all the groceries away, sorting them out between the fridge and the cupboards. There was no reason to cook, as she was the only one to eat at home, as usual. She couldn't even remember when her husband, Paul, came home for dinner the last time, and she was bored of cooking just for herself.

Natalia, her daughter, had moved out months ago, and Paul took that as a sign, a permission to stop coming home for dinner. Not that he had spent much time at home before, but with Natalia around, his often absence wasn't quite as painful. These days, Ana found herself alone every evening, feeling abandoned and forgotten. Unloved, somehow.

She sighed deeply, and reached for the half full bottle of red wine that stood on the large, otherwise empty dining table. She poured herself a half glass, and sat down. It was one of her typical evenings. She would eat something, maybe. Then take a long shower and later, fall asleep reading in bed. Maybe she would wake up when Paul came home, or maybe they would just stumble into each other in the morning, somewhere in the flat, before they both left for the day...

Ana's eyes strolled to the large picture hanging on the wall in front of her. However sad she felt, it always managed to bring her some solace. The picture was there since they moved in this flat years ago, and she had memorised it in the smallest detail. Nonetheless, she observed it silently again, while sipping her wine.

Mont Saint-Michel.

The small, medieval village was bathed in the setting sun, disappearing slowly in the boundless sea. The modern causeway built over the shallow waters and marshes surrounding the small island, lay half hidden in the shadows of the approaching night. Everything in the picture looked so strangely calm and peaceful. The proverbial quiet before the storm. The threatening clouds gathering above the rooftops were a clear sign of the imminent downpour. Anastasia could imagine the scent of the ocean, and the smell of the air, charged with the electricity of the approaching storm.

She loved that picture, she always wished to go there and see that place with her own eyes. Ana was fascinated by the history and legends of this little French town. But the workaholic of her husband did not like travelling. They never went anywhere. Paul always had too much work to do, phone calls to make and important dinners to attend. The picture of Mont Saint-Michel hanging above their dining table, which once looked like a possible holiday destination, had become an unreachable mirage. An oasis in the desert that Anastasia's life had become. Only a refuge for her mind.

Ana had just finished her wine when her phone rang.

"Hi mum." Natalia's voice was a welcome distraction from Ana's thoughts. "What are you up to?"