No. 47/100 flash fiction stories; written and minimally edited based on a Write the Story prompt

I woke with the taste of something sweet and slightly stale in my mouth. 

Smacking my lips, I lifted my head from my folded arms on a table. A clear, crinkly wrapper and a little white strip of paper were the only things in front of me. I blinked, trying to bring my vision into focus so I could read the tiny writing on the white paper. 

“You will receive an exciting invitation soon,” it said. 

The dots connected—and I wondered what had made me decide to eat a fortune cookie right before falling asleep. I tried to swallow the taste away, but still it lingered. 

I rubbed my head and yawned. It felt like I’d slept for weeks…

…and it occurred to me that maybe I had. Because as I finally took in my surroundings, I realised that the kitchen I was in was completely foreign to me. 

I blinked, becoming more alert in a moment. Several things assaulted my senses all at once: the sound of a speaker crackling but no music, cool air, the dusty smell of old things. And…was that cinnamon? 

None of it triggered the faintest spark of familiarity. My mind was…empty. 

Heart thumping, I jumped to my feet. The crackling speaker sat on the kitchen island, its plugin cord sitting there helplessly as if a phone had been connected to it only moments ago. Had it been? It felt like I’d been asleep for a long time, but I could still taste the fortune cookie in my mouth. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the panic tightening in my chest, and attempted to drag up memories. Any memory.

Standing on a harbour, the spray of the sea. Surrounded by sturdy cedars, their distinct scent enveloping me. Itchy grass, an annual soccer tournament… 

I shook my head. Just fragments, puzzle pieces, that was all. 

I rushed to the adjacent living room and found a newspaper on a rocking chair. I nearly ripped the delicate pages as I grabbed them. Dated May 23rd, 2015. Headline about a satellite crashing to Earth. Nothing else of note. With a huff, I threw it down, feeling increasingly frantic. There had to be more clues somewhere.

But as I raised my head, every thought scattered.

The living room was filled from top to bottom, start to end with books. Old books. Not only that, but strange relics and faded parchment, too.

Was I some kind of antiquarian? I wondered. Strangely enough, only one book was opened amongst the hundreds that covered the room. I felt drawn to it and shuffled over, not daring to touch its weathered cover. For a moment, the writing looked like gibberish, but then I realised I could understand it. It explained coordinates for an ancient portal. One that led to another dimension.

A flash of yellow caught my eye. I carefully moved the book to the side to reveal a sticky note with only one word on it:

Sorry.

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Cover image by Mick Haupt on Unsplash