Tuesday, April 14, 2015

A to Z: L is for Larry's Quest


For A to Z 2015 I will be posting flash fiction, all random, all the crazy musings of a crazy mind. Hope you like them.
L is for Larry’s Quest

Larry pulled up short. The building didn’t look right; it was almost smaller, if that made sense. To him, it did. It had been over thirty years since he’d been back; it should be smaller.
The door was propped open with a brick, like it always had been. Larry shook his head. It’s like they’ve never heard of crime before.
And, proving him wrong, a twenty-something stuck his head out through a lower window. “You Alberta’s boy?”
Alberta’s boy. It had been years since Larry’d been called that. It left a bad taste in his mouth; it all did. He nodded briefly before continuing on his way up to his mother’s apartment. Well, technically his mother’s old apartment. Which is why Larry was there that day. His mother was gone and he was there to clean up what was left of her.  
Her apartment door, like the one downstairs, was propped open with a brick. Larry shook his head as he stepped over it.
The apartment was the same: same furniture, same pictures on the wall, same smell. Larry held his breath as he went straight to the bedroom closet, like he knew just what he was going for, and he did.
That door was open, too, like his mother knew right where he’d go, like she was luring him there. That surprised him. He had no idea she knew him so well.
His eyes and hands went to the box on the shelf, the one he’d spent his childhood watching, the one that was now his.
He had to let his breath out as he pulled it down, it was heavy. He’d known that, too.
Taking the quickest of inhales, he lifted the lid. They were all there; crammed in so tight some slid to the floor.
He reached down and grabbed them, carefully setting them back with the rest. It would be just his luck if one of them turned out to be the one. He couldn’t take that chance.
If his mother was to be believed, it was in there, in one of those letters. His eyes trailed to the picture on the wall opposite the closet; the one of his father standing next to the golden chest.
And now it was his time, his turn, for his own kind of quest.
 
-Mel