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  • Writer's pictureLaura L. Zimmerman

Flash Fiction Friday: Wash, Rinse, Repeat

Amelia walked the familiar route to work just like she did every Tuesday. Down Sixth Street, west on College Avenue, to the corner stop light on Trade Street. A March chill forced her to pull her coat tighter. She frowned.

The light turned green, she stepped off the curb—

Only to be yanked back onto the sidewalk. She stifled a cry as a cherry colored BMW that had run the red light missed her by inches. Adrenaline slammed through her veins.

“Are you okay?” The man was tall with dark hair that looked like it needed brushed.

She placed a hand over her heart. “Yes. I think so.” Her gaze found his. “Thank you. That was scary.”

“Look, I know this sounds weird, but I need you to come with me.” One of his eyes twitched and he glanced around nervously.

Something in Amelia’s belly flipped. “Erm, I’ve got to get to work. Thanks for helping me though.”

She turned to leave but he grabbed her arm. “You don’t understand. You can’t go to work. You’re going to die.”

Her throat grew tight and she pulled her arm free. “I really need to go now. Please leave me alone.” Again she turned.

“Amelia!” the man said, jumping in front of her.

She narrowed her eyes. “How do you—”

“Look, I know this is hard to believe…impossible really. But you are going to die today. I need to help you.”

Amelia stepped back and reached in her purse.

“Please, you must believe me,” he begged. “I’ve lived this day over and over for nearly a year now. Every single day I wake up and it’s the same. Exact. Day. The only thing that always happens is you die. No matter what I do, or how I try to save you, somehow you die.” He paused and leaned in. “I think I’m supposed to save you, Amelia.”

She shook her head and held pepper spray toward him. “I don’t know what kind of drugs you’re on, buddy, but I’ve got to get to work.”

“No! Amelia, please.” The man’s voice was desperate.

“No, thanks. I’ll take my chances.” She started walking backwards, her eyes still on him.

As she stepped off the curb to cross in front of the parking garage, his eyes went wide. “Not that way! No!”

The man jumped, knocked her to the ground. Pain radiated through her back and shoulders.

Crash! Someone screamed.

She sat up. The man was crumpled on the pavement. A car had hit him as it sped from the garage. The driver got out, ran around to check on the stranger.

Blood pumped inside her ears, spots floated before her eyes.

The driver crouched over the stranger, checked his pulse.

She’d almost died. The man saved her from dying, just like he’d said.

“Someone call 911!” the driver said. “He’s dying!”

Amelia blinked. The man had succeeded in saving her.

And this had finally been his last Tuesday.

©Laura L. Zimmerman 2018


Photo by Jesse Echevarria on Unsplash

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