Winging to Nowhere – by Donna Gagnon
Flash Fiction / February 8, 2009

Sylvia’s standing on the platform but the train isn’t there. The cheque wasn’t there, either, not on any one of the seven times she checked the mailbox in the hallway today. The little silver key’s getting worn at the edges. It turns in the lock, brightly singing a hope of happiness, only to sound a dull note of disappointment at the emptiness it uncovers. He’d promised it would be there. Tomorrow, he’d said. “Sorry it took so long, Syl. But I’ve posted it. Trust me.” Before she emptied out the fridge, tossing a year-old jar of mayonnaise into a garbage bag already overfilled with eggs and meat and butter well past their best before dates, Sylvia had deleted Brian’s phone number from her cell phone’s memory. The cheque hadn’t arrived, yet another of his promises lay stillborn, bleating pathetically on the carpet of her rubbed worn stamina and she’d decided to return to Nowhere. A place that she was convinced had no knowledge of the stupidity in her heart. A town with cloudless skies, people who smiled without guilt and a clear remembrance of a raven-haired girl from a wealthy family with a very engaging laugh. A friend that didn’t…