The wrappers in the store candy bin mesmerized me, a well-surfed chocolate sea of reds, blues, and golds. Reaching in, I cut myself on a jagged piece of tarnished metal jutting out like Florida. I wanted to ask for a bandage, but only found the stockers who were likely too busy from the tsunami of corporate greed and entitled shoppers that engulf them every day to deal with a slightly bleeding woman seeking chocolate. My name is not Karen. I walked to my car, hand dripping an audacious shade of red I would have worn as lipstick when I was younger. I wiped the blood off with a microfiber cloth used for removing the rain off the door. If I yelled, ‘I’m cut!’ I wonder if anyone would hear or care, but it’s never the time nor place for a tree falling in the forest experiment to validate my existence. I was still craving candy sweetness or a nougat hug. Outside, the cool weather made the sky a vomit gray, and I had nowhere else to drive, no one expecting me to show. Gazing in the rearview mirror I hoped to see a whirling portal where I could swim back through time and make myself better, faster, thinner, richer, stronger, but the only things there were a candy wrapper blowing in the wind, and a car with a marathon mileage sticker showing the longest distance they had run, and I thought I haven’t ran many miles, but I have traveled far.
Nancy Geibe Wasson’s flash fiction work has appeared in A Story in 100 Words, The Drabble, Flash Flood and Café Lit. She is a member of WFWA and AWP. Nancy lives with her family in Northwest Arkansas.