"Unlocked" by Joy Manné

Had she unlocked it, or had she found it unlocked? Belinda believed she had turned her key. She laid her petite palm in its ecru calfskin glove against the deep-red cherry wood of her front door—

Was it her door?

It looked like her door. It felt like her door—

Why was her door unlocked while she was out? She was fastidious about locking her door.

‘Hormones, my dear,’ said the doctor. ‘Women of your age become confused for a few years and then, for most of them, it gets better.’

How many in a few? Five? Seven? Nine?

Was she among the ‘most of them’?

What about her life during the coming years of bewilderment? Would she know if her gloves matched her coat or if she’d paid her telephone bill? Would she recognise her friends?

‘Was it Alzheimer’s?’

‘Hormones. Too young for Alzheimer’s.’

Belinda squirmed as the doctor pressed his plump palm against her lower vertebrae, precipitating her towards the door.

‘It happens to lots of women of your age, my dear.’ His fingers fondled the lapels of her ecru calfskin coat. ‘Ask your friends.”

Would the Brendas and Beverleys with whom she played bridge know they were bewildered too?

Belinda laid her petite palm against the deep-red cherry wood door and pressed it open.

A woman whom she did not recognise approached. She was wearing an ecru calfskin skirt.

‘Is this your flat?’ they chorused.

FlashFlood is brought to you by National Flash-Fiction Day UK, happening this year on 27th June 2015

In the build up to the day we have now launched our Micro-Fiction Competition (stories up to 100 words) and also our annual Anthology (stories up to 500 words).  So if you have enjoyed FlashFlood, why not send us your stories?

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