The Write Room Cafe

The Write Room Cafe
Kevin Lynn Helmick

Friday, June 29, 2012

The Collector-a flash of fiction

Flash fiction is something I don't have a hell of lot of interest in, but a lot of people do, so I pump it out once in a while has a kind of mental calisthenic. I very rarely share it or do anything with it. But I have even less interest in blogging so it just might be the perfect vehical for my flash attempts.


The land was his by the way of a will. It was all that he had; the land, the trees, and the artifacts that had been collected by himself and descendants and thought of as a kind of pension. A menagerie of obsessions that decorated the acreage and cluttered the halls of the home where he was raised and now just fodder of ever lessening value.

He locked the doors of the car, coughed till his lungs restricted, choked and rolled the windows tight. He’d been offered great sums of money from the advancing population. Time and again they came with their check books, blue prints and plans for development. He turned them away.

He felt the heat and heard the cracking of fallen timber in the smoke and flames outside. He’d been ordered to evacuate. He’d been given orders over the years on other things too and ignored them as well. It was his land and he’d do as he pleased.

He heard the sound of the tires on the car exploding, one by one and smelled the stench of burning rubber and wires. He had no wife or children to speak of, or would speak of him and he kept to himself, his junk and integrity.

He removed his fingers from the steering wheel and with it came strings of plastic and flesh. They said the fire was coming his way and he thought if it did, it would be his to own as well.

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