Flux
By Jane Broughton
‘Take it Eve,’ urged her sister, ‘before it’s too late. Choose to carry on, please, for both of us.’ Eve took the packet and watched as her sister faded into static.
The world was wild, barriers had been breached, ethics exploded and survival no longer held the hope of salvation. Eve knew she had to embrace the risks; sometimes the power to choose was all that remained. She allowed the tablet to dissolve on her parched tongue.
Her head was suddenly full of balloons and cupcakes. She could hear the balloons jostling against each other. A sweet pink smell coated her throat like candyfloss.
Her head was at a party. A birthday party, shrill childish squeals pierced like needles. She was disoriented – ‘Sit up… sit down… now freeze…’ chanted a familiar voice. She tore through shining golden paper to discover a hollow core. There was laughter.
Her head was stuffed, brain like a dormouse in a teapot. Thoughts lumbered through the furry landscape as slowly as buffaloes. She was overloaded, heavy, sleepy, searching for an ‘off’ switch.
Her head recognised the blackness, the blankness, rolling out towards her like a thick musty carpet. She brushed away the cake crumbs and dropped into the dark.
Her head was empty. Sudden light flooded an echoing, cavernous space. No memories lurked in corners. No errant whispers rustled in the rafters. She could twirl; arms outstretched, fingers rigid as arrows, and not hit a target.
She knew she’d changed. The tablet had worked. Her body was a husk on a wooden bench somewhere. She trusted it would be gathered up quickly, stored securely.
Her head was now a sanctuary, where she could settle to wait out events. Her consciousness emerged, lean as a wolf, and inhaled the spiced honey of freesias. The scent circled and eddied in the air. She howled and watched as the metallic mercury of the sound she created undulated and swirled.
She remembered colours and suddenly there were swathes of blues and turquoises, reminders of an ocean that had been and would be again.
Jane Broughton
Jane lives in Manchester and won Beaconlit Festival’s flash fiction prize in 2019. This unexpected success prompted her to start writing seriously in her sixties. It’s never too late! She enjoys the challenge of writing flash fiction, the shorter the better. Her stories have been published in a variety of magazines, including Writers’ Forum, and online by Free Flash Fiction, Full House, Ellipsis Zine and The Wondrous Real. She’s been a LISP and Edinburgh Flash Fiction Award finalist and had pieces shortlisted by Retreat West, Writing Magazine and Flash500. You can find her on X @janeb323 or janeb@bsky.social
Photo credit: Olesia Bahrii
Apricot Press 