You walk up the gravel driveway, the small gray stones crunching beneath your boots. The sun is hot and beats down on the back of your neck, stinging your skin. Sweat beads along your brow, though not from the August heat alone – you are nervous, terrified. The future scares you most of all, but this moment, right now, seems as dangerous as whatever will happen when they arrive.
The house is exactly how you remember. Her brother’s pickup parked haphazardly underneath the sprawling apple tree; the green lawns perfectly trimmed and the hedges exactly square, thanks to her father’s pedantic obsession with gardening.
The purple door is new. It was the last thing you saw when you stormed out of the house, and your knuckles still hurt from where you punched through the inset window. This door is solid timber – a better choice.
You stand on the porch, your heart fluttering nervously.
You don’t have much time. They are coming for you, and quickly. It is now or never, but never seems like much better than right now. You raise your fist – your good one – and hover over the door, your insides squirming.
The bench seat is right beside you. The place where you first kissed her while the Fourth of July turned the skies into an explosion of light and color – you don’t remember much of the fireworks, but you remember her mouth on your lips, the smell of her hair; the almost indescribable way that you had felt completely safe. As though she was the missing piece to your life, and without her, you would be broken and lost.
The way you feel now.
You knock twice.
You regret the action immediately. You turn around, cursing yourself for wasting this much time, for detouring so far and risking so much. It was stupid and misguided. She’s probably not at home, and even if she was, what would you say? It’s pointless.
You turn around, the sunlight sapping your energy almost immediately. Your crappy, stolen sedan is right where you left it, the keys still in the ignition. Ready for a quick getaway, though the half-tank of gas won’t get you much further than the interstate.
You should have been long gone already. So why are you still here?
Crunch goes the gravel beneath your feet.
“Ashton?”
Her voice stops you dead. Her tone trembles when she says your name. You can’t see her yet, but you can picture her, and your knees shake. Part of you cringes, desperately wanting to get back into the sedan. It’s only twenty feet away, and they’re closing in on you – is that your imagination, or can you hear the sirens?
The other part of you, the part that didn’t break the door, the part that didn’t drive out into the woods with a shovel on the backseat and a bodybag in the trunk; the part that remembers the Fourth of July two year ago and almost every day after that until the night when she was crying at the kitchen table, begging you to leave — that part forces you to turn around.
The sunlight catches her hair and throws a golden glow against the purple door. Your heart hitches in your throat, and you can’t help but stare at her, standing in a white dress with a blue sash around her waist. You can’t remember why you came anymore. Perhaps it was just for this moment, so that you could see her one last time. You couldn’t live with yourself otherwise.
She hesitates, one foot on the porch. She wants to come to you, and your heart aches for her. You want to hold her and kiss her the way you had all those years ago, when things had been simpler and you had both been innocent. Only one of you is innocent now.
Her brother looms behind her, and any thought of going to her is crushed.
He glares daggers at you, and you take a step back. He is everything you are not – taller, broader, fiercer; you pulled the trigger when he, a better man like him, would have let justice take its course. He is her protector too, and you were not. You could not protect her when she needed you most, and all your anger could not change anything. You couldn’t undo what that monster had done to her, though you tried.
In retrospect, a bullet had been too kind.
You wonder if she has nightmares, like you do. Hers would be different. Hers would be filled with darkness and terror, of unspeakable horrors that only humanity can bring forth. Hers would be of liquor and sweat, and being utterly powerless, defenceless and alone.
Your nightmares are filled with the pitiful sobs of that wretch, his audacity to beg and plead, groveling on his knees. Your nightmares are of staring into his eyes and seeing yourself reflected back, a monster just the same as him, incapable of remorse. Perhaps even worse – at least he’d had the decency to apologize, even if had been with a gun pointed to his head.
They turn the sirens on when they enter the street.
You can’t run. There’s no point. They will catch you. They have been chasing you for months, and you’re tired, defeated. This was the end of the road all along – somehow you knew that, but you were lying to yourself the whole time.
The SUVs tear up her father’s front lawn, and then you run.
You don’t get far.
Your face is suddenly against the asphalt, tearing your cheek apart, and they’re shouting at you, telling you things you don’t understand. Her face is there in your mind, the only thing you can see. They haul you upright and you look at the house, the handcuffs clicking around your wrists, cold and restrictive.
Her brother shakes his head and mutters something to her. He pulls her inside and closes the door, but her eyes stay on you until the door bangs shut.
They duck your head and force you into the backseat. You squint through the tinted windows and see her peering through the curtain, her eyes on the car, though she can’t possibly see you. A man sits beside you, and another in the driver’s seat, and the SUV pulls away from the house.
Suburbia flashes past the windows, but you don’t bother looking. There is nothing out there you want – what you want, you left behind at that house. In fact, you left it behind long ago.
The detective isn’t watching you. You fumble in your pocket, suddenly afraid that you left it behind in the stolen sedan. You remember leaving it atop the pile of dirty old blankets one night, when only that memory had kept you warm–
Your hands find the crumpled photograph and you breathe a sigh of relief. You pull it out, the handcuffs clinking. The detective glances at you, but makes no comment. You flatten the picture, though the wrinkles and stains will never be truly gone. The photo is old, faded, well-worn. Every dot of color is familiar to you, because you went to sleep with it in your hands every night since you left her, and now you’ll sleep with it for much longer indeed.
As the suburbs turn into the city, and the Police Station grows nearer, her face stares up at you. She is smiling and happy, wearing that same white dress with the blue sash. She looks radiant, perfect, unscarred. Her arm is around your shoulder, and you stare at the camera as though you have won the lottery – and in a sense, you had.
The SUV comes to a stop.
This was never a detour – it was the end of the road, and you knew that all along.
You tear the photograph in half and leave your still-frame copy on the backseat. Whatever – whoever – that person was, you don’t recognize him anymore. He died, like that monster, like your chance at a normal life, when you pulled the trigger. You place the other half of the photo in your pocket. Where you’re going, she cannot follow, but her memory can – a memory of what you once had, of what you can never hope to recapture.
You take a deep breath, and swing your legs out of the car.
The asphalt crunches beneath your boots.
This is beautiful ❤
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Thank you so much for reading Kayla, I’m glad you enjoyed it.
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Ooh, wonderful emotions here, Brett. Especially love the line “Only one of you is innocent now.”
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Thanks so much Alyssa, I’m so happy that you liked it! ☺️
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Actually, would you mind if I wrote a response fic of sorts from the girl’s perspective? I’d probably post it on the blog, but if you like I can send it for you to vet before doing so.
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I’m honored that it inspired you to write a response! Of course you’re free to do so, but I would love the opportunity to read it first! I’ll message you! 🙂
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This is utterly brilliant. Evokes a lot of emotion. You were born to write, Brett.
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Wow, thank you Kynn! That honestly means a lot to me, and I’m thrilled that I could achieve this kind of response with my story. Thank you! ❤️
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Holy shit. I mean HOLY SHIT. For the first time, probably since the dawn of time, I’m actually speechless. Incredibly Bretty. Phenomenal.
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Wow, now THAT is high praise indeed. I’m touched that you enjoyed it so much. Thank you for reading Kelly! ^_^
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It is my first time on your blog, and this was a pleasant welcoming post. It’s beautifully written. I couldn’t stop reading until I finished the whole thing in one go. 🙂
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Hello and welcome to my blog Dre! I’m so glad to see a new face here and thrilled that you came to this post first! Thank you so much for coming by and commenting too!
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I am usually allergic to 2nd person and present tense because it reminds me of those Goosebump Choose Your Own Adventure books BUT you are such an amazing writer, I am completely in love with this short story. You have such a bright future ahead of you! I’m ready to fling my money at preordering your books when the publishers snap it up 😉
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I’m really glad that you liked the style – it was a risk but clearly it paid off! I’m blushing from your comment – thank you so much, it means an awful lot to me. I hope I’ll be able to come through and have books for you to spend your money on!
Thank you!
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BRETT! This story is beautiful and I love it and I’m sorry this comment isn’t more helpful but YES. ❤
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This is the best type of comment – it’s very helpful! 😉 Thank you so much for reading, I’m so glad you enjoyed it!
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Loved the fiction piece Brett, I haven’t read second person perspective quite like this one before and it was really fluid and emotional! I love the slow way you revealed what went on between them as the story went along. Looking forward to what you write next!
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Thank you so much Jeann! Working in second person was fun but also a really great way to make the story unique! I’m so glad you enjoyed it – thank you for reading!
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Okay, but this is so haunting and beautiful. YOU CAN TAKE MY MONEY. I’d read your grocery lists if I’m being completely honest. It’s lovely ❤ I don't usually read from this perspective, but it totally paid off.
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Thank you so much Nirvana! Maybe I’ll have to post a grocery list sometime! 😉
I’m glad you liked the perspective! Thank you for reading! ^_^
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Nice story Brett!!! I’m not sure I completely got what happened but it was really well written! Did he shoot someone? Nice descriptive language and tension/conflict build up!
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Hi Renee! I don’t usually see you on my blog – thank you for reading my flash fiction! Everyone will take something different away from the story – exactly who Ashton killed, etc; it’s complex enough for multiple interpretations I hope.
Thank you!
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I READ IT, BRETT.
I love that you took a gander at second person, and you did it really well. Beautiful story, great implications without revealing every detail outright. You leave enough to the imagination, yet there’s no confusion on the reader’s part: we know exactly what’s going on. The emotion is thick and incredible, and frankly you are awesome.
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Aw that’s such high praise Rae, thank you! Everything you described is exactly what I wanted to happen, so I’m thrilled that it worked out and you enjoyed it so much! Thank you for reading!
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You’re so welcome, Brett! Thanks for sharing ❤
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Oh man. This is incredible, and second person? Wow!
The part about not being a detour, but the end of the road actually gave me a major case of feelings. Amazing!
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Samantha, I am so sorry I neve replied! Thank you so much for reading my short story, I’m so glad you enjoyed it! 😀
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Somehow I didn’t get around to reading this before, but NOW I HAVE and I LIKED IT A LOT. I think my favorite thing about it was that even though “we” as the audience are kind of in the role of the main character as we read, we still only have very limited information at our disposal because “we” still aren’t the narrator. And that’s actually an awesome choice, because even though the language involves us, there is still so much mystery and open-endedness that surrounds the circumstances that we can’t pick up immediately through the narration. Yissssss. Me gusta!
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Hi there Heather! I am SO glad you liked! Thank you so much, I’m glad that the narrative style worked out so well and everyone enjoyed it! Again, thank you for reading!
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Hmm, this is a very compelling piece. Even without knowing too much of the back story or what exactly is going on or who exactly this people is, I already feel firmly grounded in the narrative. It’s all there–the fear and the despair and all the other emotions. And I’m a sucker for second person POV If it were the beginning of a novel, I’d by the book and read it as quickly as possible. Thanks for sharing!
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That’s such a high praise Liz, thank you so very much – I am honored that you enjoyed it that much, you words mean a lot to me. Thank you for reading!
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Oh wow, I’m coming to this from Alyssa’s piece and this is so, so interesting. I loved reading her piece alone, and then reading yours and seeing how the story had been built up. The fact it’s been carried further than what it began as it so inspiring, Brett, and it’s such an interesting idea for a story. xx
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Well thank you, I’m so glad you came to read the original! Thank you so much for reading and commenting, and I’m very happy you enjoyed it!
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Wow. Just wow. This story is amazing! I just discovered your blog, and I am so glad that I did!
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Wow! Thank you so much Sierra, I’m honored! 😀
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Here I am at last! *ducks head guiltily*
You already know this, but ASHTON was so riveting I didn’t even realize that you wrote it in 2nd person until the very last sentence. Which is saying a lot because I had never read anything in that POV until your flash fiction. 🙂
Firstly, your writing has a mesmerizing quality to it and it pulls you in before you know what’s happening. I love how subtly and skillful you wove in hints to Ashton’s past — to what he did, and why. Every little detail is perfect for either building the scene in our minds or telling us what happened off-camera.
Secondly, the part when the police chase him across the lawn, when he’s on his face in the grass, the handcuffs biting into his wrists — of the entire fic I saw that most vividly in my mind. It was slow-mo, muted voices in the background, all numbed but raw emotion.
Just…. WELL DONE, BRETT.
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Hi there Annie!
I’m so happy with the amount of people who loved the unusual POV – very glad it worked out!
And wow, I’m blushing. That’s a lovely comment and description of my writing style, I’m glad you enjoyed it so much, and I hope one day I can share that same style with the world in some of my full novels!
Thank you so much for stopping by, and for your kind words!
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