My latest entry into a flash fiction contest that I run. Fortunately for me, the voters decided it was the best of the week. The word prompt was “preparation” and the photo above. 

In this city, there are no faces. Just blurs. Nobody sees anything but themselves through the reflection in their spit-shined shoes.

But Lonnie watched the blurs. These people, they had no idea. They thought routine could save them. If they just did the right things by their family and friends and God, they’d be okay. People mistook routine for preparation.

Nah, Lonnie knew better. Nothing prepares you for what’s out there.

The guy that just passed him, another shuffling blur among thousands, would bleed out on the subway platform after work. Mugging.

And the guy coming his way, frustrated he can’t get it up for his young bride, jumps from his ten-story office window. A blurry splat.

His mamma always said he had a gift. She had cancer of the brain. Lonnie didn’t tell her.

As for Lonnie, his gift didn’t extend to himself.

All the same, he kept to his corner, watching the blurs.


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