by • October 25, 2017 • Flash FictionComments (0)

The Conditional Girl

“I existed for a time. Now I don’t.”

With her tall, lithe form contained in the form-fitting black suit, she certainly looked like something out of a fantasy. He didn’t understand where she came from, though, or why she had appeared here in this dull and empty place.

Still, he had to admit, “I feel like I know you.”

“You do. In a way.”

“OK, none of this makes sense. What do you mean you don’t exist anymore? I could reach out and touch you right now.”

“I wouldn’t. Things could get weird.”

Even with her dark hair and purple eyes he had to admit her beauty didn’t compel him to touch her, but he did want something from her. Or wanted to give something to her. It was hard to distinguish between his impulses when he couldn’t remember how he got here.

Pushing through the cloud in his mind he asked, “So how can I help you?”

“When you get to where you’re going I need you to tell people about me.”

“Look,” he reached for her name and felt that it was nearly within his grasp, closer even than his own.

It alluded him until she said, “Ana.”

“Look, Ana,” he continued as if it were the most natural thing in the world, her name just rolling off the tongue, “I’m not even sure where I’m going. Why would I show everyone my crazy when I get there by blabbering about some Schrödinger’s girl?”

“Because there’s something coming and only a story can stop it.”

He blinked and had to admit, “That may be the best reason I’ve ever heard.”

See the author’s published work here.

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