Another Woman – Flash Fiction

Reid Dickie

She wasn’t just another woman.

Skyway, Speedway, Bayway, Skytrain, Gotrain, Bullettrain. I rode them all. I’ve seen women on them all, millions of women.

She wasn’t just another woman.

She was golden.

She exuded some kind of chemical that glommed itself to every man and every woman in her presence. A chemical transformation followed that created a little furnished room in everyone’s mind where she could live. She’s there right now.

Like Cleopatra, she wore a golden headband in the shape of her assassin. She proceeded through the world fully aware of the end of her story.

On the other side of town a boy was waiting.

He took a drag on his Pall Mall, ballooned smoke out his mouth, sucked it back in, exhaled dragon exhaust.

“Fuck it.”

His boot extinguished the butt in the dirt.

From a passing car, Eagles sang, “This old world still looks the same, another frame.”

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