My husband died.

I can’t write flash fiction without thinking of Fran Rizer. She ‘complained’ those ultra-short stories upset her Sunday routine of preparing coffee and then breakfast, whereupon she’d spend a few minutes enjoying SleuthSayers. On flash fiction days, that’s when (a) she’d find those few minutes were reduced to a few seconds, and (b) it caused her to snort coffee up her nose. Damn, I miss Fran. Here’s a flash fiction with her in mind.

     






My Husband Died


by Leigh Lundin

After he died, I couldn’t even look at another man for almost twenty years.

But now that I’m out of prison, I can honestly say it was worth it.