Ficlets

Leaving my head on the pillow, I rolled my eyes around the room, relieved that I had at least not gone home with the handsome stranger. That was one awkward conversation I’d be only too happy to avoid.

Still, something felt wrong.

I attempted to recall the details of the previous night, but the harder I tried, the more tenuous my memory became. I sighed in frustration, feeling tired, though I was still in bed. There was a horrible taste in my mouth. God, what I wouldn’t give for a breath mint.

On my nightstand was a half-empty bottle of water with a business card propped against it. How very odd.

I can admit to being a neat freak, maybe even a little compulsive: I crave order and symmetry. This business card, which I’d never seen before, was disrupting that symmetry. It represented a loss of control, for I knew I didn’t put it on my nightstand.

Reluctant to touch the thing, I squinted and read on the front:

Raymond Frost
Collector

Collector of what? I wondered …