Fiction from Lee Hamblin

Photo by rawpixel

In-Locked-Out

Asleep

Soft fingers brush across my forehead like whispers of love. A voice. A man’s voice, yes, tranquil, yes, but only on the surface. I know you can hear me, he says.

Footsteps approach. The hand pulls away sharply. The same voice, though now turned elsewhere and unmasked. They ran a red light and smashed into her before I’d a chance to… We were walking together, her hand in mine… The voice ripples, distorts with fury. Why her, not me?

Another voice, this one a woman’s, icy, and impassive. I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.

She’s still here with me, the man says, I know she is.

.

Awake

It’s a sunny autumn day. We’re driving up the High Road in Dad’s pear-green shiny-chromed Ford Consul. Mum’s talking to my brother. She’s not shut the back door properly. I’m playing roly-roly across the seat. I’m giggling and spluttering baby sounds. I roly-roly too far too quickly, the door teases open, I fall out, landing with a smack in a golden-leafed gutter where a time-bent Chinese lady screams like a cat being strangled. She picks me up and wraps me in the silk gown she’s wearing. She calls out to the pear-green car that hasn’t yet stopped. She looks at me, and I’m pulled into the black pools of her eyes. I touch the soft silk, and smile.

.

Dream

Someone’s crying. A man’s cry, guttural and boisterous, extricated from some deep pit. He struggles with words in the spaces between wails. It’s the same voice from before. Please come back to me. I love you, he repeats, over and over, again and again.

.

.

Lee Hamblin is from the UK. He lives in Greece and teaches yoga. He’s had stories published in FlashBack Fiction, MoonPark Review, formercactus, Reflex, Blue Fifth Review, Ellipsis, Fictive Dream, Spelk, and at other places. He tweets @kali_thea and puts links to his stories and other words here: https://hamblin1.wordpress.com

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