Flash fiction

by Paul Daly

Always in a hurry to do things he had long ago picked up the nickname, Flash. He wore his assumed moniker like a cape, reveling in feats of alacrity whenever he was in company, driven by a nervous energy that propelled him to answer questions before they were half asked, talk at breakneck speed, order the first round before the others had sat down and walk everywhere as if he were in a race. He always seemed to be running away from life, from people, from his past, from his future, from the present moment. When he was alone at home it was a different story. Then he was plain Peter, his superpowers discarded like a costume. But he didn’t really relax even at home. When he looked in the mirror to shave it was a furtive glance as if he were afraid of what he would see. He wasn’t out to impress or to escape anyone so his actions were less frenetic but the radio or TV were always on and he regularly scanned the news headlines on his phone to see if some new disaster had occurred. In those rare moments when there was extended silence like when there was a power cut or his phone died and he couldn’t immediately find a charger he felt a vague dissatisfaction which sharpened the longer it went on into an existential despair though he didn’t call it that. It felt just like sheer terror which he could taste but didn’t want to name. And because he couldn’t find an answer to it instantly he tried not to think about it and distracted himself with thoughts about his fictional namesake’s many superpowers and how he could solve everything by thinking at lightning speed.

IAHIP 2023 - INSIDE OUT 100 - Summer 2023