Flash Friday,  Free Reads

Fiction Friday: The Echo


I post a little snippet of something on most Fridays. It may be an excerpt, a piece of flash, or a chapter from a serialized novel. Check back often, or follow the blog to make sure you don’t miss any of the fun!


If I hadn’t dropped my yoga mat, the bus never would have hit me.


I shouldn’t have been in such a rush.  I remember that was my final living thought.

Pigeons took flight, startled by the sound of fragile flesh hitting unyielding steel and the collective gasp of people on the sidewalk. As they fluttered overhead in a clumsy triangle, I laid there on the ground and thought, “You were always rushing.”

I had spent my whole life hurrying to reach some destination…and then, in those last few heartbeats, I had finally arrived.

I can’t remember what I believed, but I know this is not what I was expecting.  There should have been someone to greet me.  A guide.  A revelation.  A bright white light or something…anything. Anything other than this endless, aimless, meaningless…existence.

Do I exist?

I think, therefore I am, some philosopher said.

But can you “think” without brainwaves? I don’t know. I don’t even know how I know the word “think”. Other than those last seconds in my body, I have no memories of living. I don’t know who taught me philosophy or about brainwaves. I don’t know who loved me, or who I loved, or where or how I lived. But I often think that someone must miss me. Whoever I was. I wonder, if they had been there at the end, would I remember more?

I do not know how long I have wondered these things. Time passes, but it has no meaning to me. People go about their lives, unaware of my presence that lingers here, in the last place I remember. The only place I remember. But here I am. Still. Existing. I suppose if I am not brainwaves and I am not a collection of memories, than I am simply what is left over after those things have gone. A consciousness? A soul, maybe? Or maybe something I have no word for.

All I know is that I am. I am conscious. I am aware. I know things, though I don’t know how or where I learned them. I know I am alone, drifting in this in-between place. I know that should frighten me or make me sad, but I do not know what frightened and sad feel like without a body.

Maybe I am a soul. Maybe I am a ghost. Or maybe I am simply the echo of a consciousness that has nowhere else to be anymore.

— 403 Words