blanket, flash, flash fiction, Gay Degani, glasses, London, micro fiction, relationships, short stories, short story, ski run, sky, vss
by Gay Degani
He sits in the cab of the snow-cat every night where there is no sky when it storms, nothing but snow everywhere, and he has to drive the cat and move the new white off the ski run and he can’t see and he is frightened and exhilarated all at the same time.
Sometimes when he can’t see, he doesn’t move, waits for the storm to pass, thinks about Marja.
She threatens, “I’ll leave. London has my two favorite things, history and sex.”
He tells her, “Then go.”
She doesn’t go. That’s the problem. She never follows through.
When he comes home at dawn, there are crumbs in the carpet, bits of pretzels and crackers, stray raisins, candy wrappers. On the couch, Marja splayed under a blanket. She has thirteen pairs of drugstore eyeglasses, all +200 and still she cannot see.
Gay Degani, a resident of Los Angeles, has had four flash stories nominated for Pushcart consideration, a full-length collection, Rattle of Want (Pure Slush Press, 2015), and a suspense novel, What Came Before (Truth Serum Press, 2016). She’s on Facebook and Twitter. She occasionally blogs at Words in Place.
Paul Beckman said:
Wonderful story in such a few words. Congrats, Gay.