Ficlets

“There’s a hand holding a gun in our mailbox,” he says again.

“Finally” she says with finality.

“What do you mean?” He hangs up the phone, so that he can hang on her words.

“I was wondering when it would happen. I knew it would come, this day. I had an inkling when I woke up this morning, I would feel it by the tingle in my toes, that this day was the day.”

“What day?” He asks, bewildered by her sudden use of alliteration and repetition.

“I knew that one day I would get a sign, a sign that nothing would be as it was before. Before you found the hand.” And with that casual bit of nothingness, she walked outside and approached the mailbox.

He watched her go, with a growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach. Something was clearly not right, and it went way beyond her explanation that ‘one day, this day would come’. As he watched her open the mailbox, he said to himself: This is it. This is the end. And with that oddly rational thought, she reached in.