Flash Fiction: Flinch

The flashes hit with such regularity that they shouldn’t have caught her off guard like they did. One moment, Simone would be enjoying some too-sweet soft serve from the cone-shaped stand at the edge of the park. In the next, cars would collide, a body through a windshield or pressed under the weight of the car, blood pooling.

And after the flinch, when she opened her eyes, the violence had vanished.  

More often, the accidents she envisioned were her own, a broken ankle while stepping off a curb, getting hit by a delivery truck on the street, a tree dropping a large branch on her. The visions made her nervous, but what was she to do? Never leave the house?

Sometimes a cat was there, a fluffy, white thing with vivid, pink eyes, watching complacently. The closer it was, the more vivid her visions became. And then one day, it was too close, and a body that landed on the sidewalk in a wild crunch of bone and flesh remained there after the flinch.

This time, the violence was real and true, and the only thing she could do was pick up the cat and take it home.

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