Thorn

Here’s another honorable mention story from our flash fiction contest, “Thorn” by Lauren Dorman. If you enjoy this one, be sure to check out Lauren’s other story, “What’s Got You?” which won the May 2023 flash fiction contest.

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Betty Grace Miller loved one thing more than anything else in this world: being the first to share a piece of juicy gossip to the neighborhood on her new telephone. Roger had surprised her with it at Christmas, and she had been on it ever since to chat about all the latest with anyone who was anyone. So when she’d heard that the neighbors across the street were expecting their seventh child, she knew she had to make a call. 

“That’s right, Opal, seven! Can you imagine? I might as well fall out right now if Roger and I even had one of those snotty brats to keep up with. My house would never get clean.” Betty laughed wickedly into the receiver as she twirled the twisted telephone cord around her finger absentmindedly. 

THREE

Betty pursed her lips at the intruding countdown. Just when the gossip was getting good!

“I told Roger the same thing!” Betty exclaimed back to the receiver in response to some forgotten reply, “Some women don’t know when to stop making fools of themselves. She’d do better to go down to the clinic and do away with it before her husband finds out and then go take a spa vacation to rest her dark circles so she can get back to what matters.” 

Betty prided herself in having no dark circles herself. Those were for the unfortunates. And as for her home? Well, she wouldn’t be caught dead with a single thing out of place. Children? In this economy? She almost choked at the idea. She had discretely handled three very unfortunate accidents and Roger had been none the wiser. Not that he minded of course, he rarely paid her much mind these days what with the hours he spent at work and the demands that entailed. She halfway hoped he would get a side mistress so he would leave her be. The clinic visits were not exactly… pleasant. No, it would not do to have a child, now or ever. 

TWO

Oh, bother, thought Betty. This was such a lovely memory. She was so slim and beautiful at this age. She’d appreciated it then, but there was something different about knowing the memory was only that. She longed more than anything to return to that youthful era, her skin glowing and her chestnut hair tumbling down in perfect waves. Even Geoff had complimented how shiny it was at the New Year’s party that previous year, and he was husband to Maria who was the ultimate hostess and the number one beauty icon on the block. That compliment had carried her through the entirety of January. 

“I agree, Opal, it's just a shame. She had a beautiful figure before, but after seven I just don’t see how she’ll recover.” 

ONE

The image of Betty Grace Miller’s yellow and white flower print kitchen walls with the pastel green telephone cord twirled around her fingers dissolved instantly. An orderly appeared at her side and popped the headset off without upsetting her thinning white bouffant hairdo. 

“Let’s get you to bed, Ms. Betty.” The kind orderly patted the old woman’s shoulder then helped her pull up the warm covers of the hospice bed provided by the good people at St. Joseph’s. The young nurse had them pulled up to her neck but these days she was cold no matter how many blankets they seemed to pile on top of her.  

There were no flowers in a vase to color the nightstand, no hand drawn pictures from grandchildren to bring laughter into the quiet room, no photos of loved ones to drape the walls with something of substance, only sterile white paint chipping at the corners. Betty smiled a little crazily at this, her nursing home room was so pristine, so perfect, so absolutely silent.

The orderly brought the covers up to Betty’s aged neck, the young woman’s hands patting Betty’s shoulder again getting ready to leave out of the room altogether. “Your room is just as clean as ever, Ms. Betty.”

Ms. Betty smiled again at this, the corners of her mouth not quite reaching her eyes. “Yes, its quite still, isn’t it?” 

Betty’s fragile hands gripped the covers in a sudden wave of panic as the orderly hit the light switch. Being alone was one thing, but alone in the dark quite another altogether. But tomorrow she would have more time on the Memory Machine, more time to pretend she was twenty nine again with a lovely home to run and a husband to buy her things, vacations to go on, parties to attend! She could sleep now and be comforted in the morning by the sound of her friend’s voices over the new telephone Roger had just bought her, and be reminded that she lived such a full and interesting life with no inconveniences whatsoever. No disruptions to her wants and desires. No difficulty in achieving all she had planned for herself. No one to bother her as she slept. No one to trouble her out of her carefully compiled and ordered memories.

“Quite still.”