Flash Fiction Friday: Awaken
- Laura L. Zimmerman
- Sep 1, 2017
- 2 min read
“Jen!”
I gasp, eyes now open as I sit up in bed. The spot beside me is empty. Where is my husband?
Chilly air clings to my skin as I slip from beneath the covers and cross the room into the hallway. The stale scent of tacos I made the night before still lingers and my stomach winces. Why does this all feel so familiar?
The living room is vacant, although sunlight streams through the cracks of the blinds. No husband. I rub my eyes and search upstairs, then the basement. Still nothing.
“Kurt?” I call. No reply.
I try the front door. It’s locked. With a low growl I twist the locks on the door and yank again. It still doesn’t budge. I roll my eyes, triple and quadruple check to make sure the locks are off, tug on the handle. It stays cemented in place.
“It won’t open.”
I spin on my heel with a cry. Kurt stands beside me. I blink, breathe. “Where have you been?”
His expression is flat. “You can’t get out. No matter how hard you try.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That door will never open.”
A hand squeezes around my heart and ice spills down my spine. “Kurt? What are you talking about?”
He steps forward, grabs my arms. “You can never leave, Jen. Don’t you understand?”
“Kurt–”
“Jen!”
I gasp, eyes now open as I sit up in bed. The spot beside me is empty. Where is my husband?
Chilly air clings to my skin as I slip from beneath the covers and cross the room into the hallway. The stale scent of tacos I made the night before still lingers and my stomach winces. Why does this all feel so familiar?
©Laura L. Zimmerman 2017
Photo credit LLZ
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