Sunday Morning: Sunday Morning, #1

By Rachel Poli

An abandoned house. A heist. A new puppy. Lost Love.

From unbelievable to true-to-life, this flash fiction collection will take you to many places and get to know various characters. With no two stories alike each is thought-provoking, emotional, and open-ended.

Rewritten from the author's blog, Short Story Sunday feature, this collection holds the first 52 prompts completely remastered from their original state. Sunday Morning is a unique collection of flash fiction where you'll be left to your own imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachel Poli
• Release date: Apr 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386565819

Book preview

SUNDAY MORNING

A Collection of 52 Flash Fiction

(Volume One)

Rachel Poli

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 Rachel Poli

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

First Published April 2019

www.rachelpoli.com

For my family who supported my crazy idea to do this in the first place. Thank you for the love and support.

The Train Ride

WHEN OLIVIA WAS A TEENAGER, she rode the train home from school every day. The train was crowded, but Olivia got used to seeing certain familiar faces. They were all strangers but she memorized which stops they got on and off. One day, an old woman sat across from her. A woman who had never been on the train before – rather, Olivia didn’t recognize her.

This elderly woman was reading a book. The book was hardcover bound, the cover black with no pictures, title, or author. Olivia tilted her head to the side, her thin, brown hair draping over her shoulder. There was nothing on the book's spine either.

The train stopped for more passengers. Olivia hated this part of the ride. Everyone boarded at this stop but no one seemed to get off. When an old man boarded, Olivia stood offering her seat. The man sitting beside her playing a game on his phone didn’t seem as though he was about to move. Olivia didn’t mind. Standing was a right fit with the crowd, but she could breathe better than when she sat.

Now she had a better look at the old woman and her book. Olivia raised herself on her toes and peered over the top of the book. She gasped, falling back to her flat feet and staring wide at the ground.

There were no words written in the book. All the pages were blank.

Excuse me? Olivia said before clearing her throat knowing that wasn't loud enough. Excuse me? she repeated louder.

The woman lifted her chin upward. When she made eye contact with Olivia, she smiled.

You can see me.

Olivia’s eyes grew bigger. She looked around at the other members of the train. She could see a lot of people and she was sure they could all see her as well.

Uh, yes? Olivia replied once she realized the old woman still stared at her.

The woman continued to grin as a response. Olivia pressed her lips together in an awkward smile. Why did she have to be nosy about the book? Anyone reading a blank book is clearly crazy. She could have kept to her own business and rode the rest of the train ride in peace.

You were curious about my book, weren’t you? the woman asked.

Olivia nodded. She couldn’t very well ignore the lady now. I wondered why...

The pages aren’t blank, my dear, the woman remarked. There’s a story here. There are characters living and breathing on these worn pages. Characters that need looking after. Characters that need a caretaker when I’m gone. She closed the book and looked at her wrinkled hands. I’d like to be at peace, you know. I can’t until my friends are cared for.

Olivia slowly nodded as the woman spoke. She was lost at this point. This woman was crazy – senile, even.

The old lady opened the book once more. She flipped through a few pages as if trying to get to a specific one. When she was about halfway through the book, she placed the palms of her hands on the pages.

Olivia gasped seeing a light green aura glow from the pages. She looked around, but no one else on the train seemed to notice. One woman gave Olivia a strange look – Olivia could only imagine the kinds of faces she was making to herself. She glanced back down at the old lady sitting with the book. Maybe Olivia was the only one who could see the elder woman.

But now Olivia sounded crazy.

The old woman closed the book once her hands stopped glowing. She held it out to Olivia, who reluctantly took it.

Once Olivia's stop had come, she never saw or heard from the woman again. She never even got a name. Olivia never knew why she took the book from the strange woman. She had promised the woman she’d take good care of her friends and that was that.

Now Annie stood in front of Olivia’s grave with the book in hand. Annie put it in her mother’s casket, but Annie awoke the following morning with the book back on her nightstand. She wasn’t sure if the book had a mind of its own - like her mother always said it did. Or, her mother haunted her from the other side.

We should get going. People will beat us to the hall before we get there. Steve came up from behind his wife. He put two hands on her shoulders and began to massage them.

No one will scold me for being late to my own mother’s funeral party, Annie replied. She turned around wrapping her hands around her husband’s waist. She rested her head against his chest.

Hey. Steve paused before hugging back. I thought you put the journal in with your mother?

I did.

You took it out?

Yeah. She lied.

Why?

I felt funny giving it up when she gave it to me the night before she passed.

Steve nodded and kissed the top of her head. Come on, we should go. He pulled away taking her hand in his and leading her to the limo.

Annie followed. She glanced back at her mother’s grave before turning her attention to the book.

Her mother called it a book. The characters were her friends. She never let it out of her sight. She read it often, never wrote in it. Steve, seeing the blank pages, called it a journal.

Annie didn’t know what it was. She tried writing in it but no pen, pencil, marker or any writing utensil worked on the old pages. She tried to read it, to see what her mother saw, but had no such luck. Yet, her mother was pleased Annie was able to see the book. Olivia told Annie she had great adventures with the characters the day she received the book.

Annie had always wondered if her mother was crazy. She’s had the book for about a week now and no characters or words have come to her. She didn’t know if she wanted them to come to her. She didn’t want the responsibility. She didn’t want the burden. And yet, she hoped the book found her to be as important as it had found her mother.

Gone

NO ONE HAD BEEN BY the house since the body was found. The mailman noticed the homeowner didn't retrieve her daily mail for a few days. He was the one who made the discovery of her death. She was old and had no family or friends to speak of. The house had been vacant for a month and it was Mary's job to fix it up and sell it.

So, it shocked Mary to find the front door open ajar when she made her way up to the porch. The wooden planks creaked under her weight.

She froze, gripping her clipboard tight to her chest. The lock on the door might have broke so someone kept it open.

Or, there could have been someone in the house.

Mary shivered. Her mind began to wander and get the best of her. Of course, there was no one in the house. The police must have left it open because... well, for police reasons.

Or, Mary thought again, it could have been that the old woman's ghost lived in the house.

Mary shook her head. She needed to stop reading thrillers at night before bed.

She pushed the door open more, the hinges creaking. Hello? she called out and then immediately slapped a hand over her mouth. Why in the world did she give away her position? If there was a ghost in the house, she was as good as dead now.

Mary remained standing in the doorway but there was no answer to her outburst. She let out a sigh of relief and stepped into the main hall.

She looked around in awe. The lobby was dark with drapes over the windows and a dull crystal chandelier overhead. The walls were painted a dark purple with copper flooring. Mary wondered what this woman had done for a living. She