Flash Written in a City Graveyard

“You don’t need this.”

“I do, Bonnie. I missed Mom and Dad’s funerals, never saw their graves.”

“Them. You owe them nothing. I’m dropping you here, but not coming back.”

She sped away. Searching, I found the moldering headstones, stood transfixed. Strange. Distant downtown towers faded from view, the nearby traffic murmuration ceased. A black hearse inched forward in the gloaming. Surrounding graves yawned open.

I’d made a terrible mistake.

From nowhere our car appeared. Bonnie piled into the hearse’s rear, propelling the whole vision into another dimension.

“Honey. I was disappearing.”

“I know, dear. I couldn’t live without you.”