Flash Fiction: Breathe

As posted on Typetrigger.


Breathe Alison, just breathe. I sat behind the wheel in my silver Nissan Bluebird — parked, and yet I gripped the wheel tightly, as if it might fall off if I didn’t. I unbuckled the seat belt that constricted my chest and returned my hands to the wheel. That helped. Slightly.

But it didn’t help that I was totally unprepared for what was next for me. What I was now running late for. I pulled down the sun visor and examined my face in the mirror. My makeup had set okay, but it didn’t disguise the fact that my eyes were bloodshot and my cheeks flushed. Breathe goddammit Alison. It’s not that hard. Anyone can do it.

I looked at the glove box. It almost cried out to me. The urge was there, but I wouldn’t let it take me. My hand took on a life of its own and the glove box opened. It caressed a white, rectangular plastic bag. The back of my throat tickled violently. I quickly shut the compartment and snapped my hand back. I would not.

I returned my hands to the wheel and breathed in; One… two… three… four… five… I held my breath; One… two…. Slowly I released; One… two… three… four… five. That would have to do.

I climbed out of the car and slipped on my heels. My skirt had ridden up a little. I pulled it down so it reached just above my knees. I swung my cream, leather handbag over my shoulder and left my car for the restaurant across the road.

I could see him there in a black suit sitting at a table and fiddling with his fingers. I walked in and took a breath. One… two… three…

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