Without a Trace. Flash Fiction.

There was no point in trying to hang on any longer. It wasn’t even like there was anyone left to mourn him. His parents had died away three years ago, car accident, his father had a bit too much to drink and had played chicken with a tree. The tree won. His sister had died when he was five, he didn’t really remember her all that much, just bits and pieces here and there. His mother wouldn’t talk about her when she was still alive. His brother had gone missing just last year, went on a walk and just never came back. He had no friends, not anymore, not after he’d driven them all away one by one. The only person who might notice his absence would be his landlord, and that would only happen once the rent was late. If he was being honest with himself this was a long time coming, he’d been trying to build up the courage to do it for weeks and today just seemed like a good day for it.

He stood at the railings of the bridge, there were no cars around, the fog meant that most people had stayed in unless they had places to be. He looked over the edge, he couldn’t see the water though he could still hear it, muted and far away. He loosened his grip on the railing and with surprising care he climbed over it. On the other side, he leaned forward and with a final, slow breath he let go of the railings. The air whipped past him as he fell, filling his ears, then he hit the cold water and everything else vanished. The shock caused him to gasp, he inhaled the icy water, it burned as it filled his lungs. He started to struggle, trying to get himself to shore but his water logged clothes were too heavy and the cold water was sapping all his strength. With one final flail he went under and didn’t emerge. The current carried his body down the length of the river, occasionally it crashed into some rocks, but it never caught on any of them.

His body passed from the river and into the ocean, never to be seen again. Three weeks later his landlord would go to his place and find it empty, the fridge full of spoiled food and absolutely no sign of where he had gone. His landlord reported it to the police who gave a cursory search and within a few weeks he was forgotten, left to be nothing more than an occasional passing thought to those who once new him.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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2 Responses to Without a Trace. Flash Fiction.

  1. Jenn says:

    This is incredibly sad, but a well written window into someone’s world.

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