Flash Fiction: Sometime, Long Ago

© Boway Young

By Lana Nauphal

I’m finding solace here lately, more than I ever have. The room is dark, no windows. Don’t have to wear my mask; it pinches and gathers sweat. It’s quiet, and I can forget.

I come here more often than Viv would like. Am I slipping? Maybe. I bring lunch and my laptop and don’t feel the time turn. I sit with my butterflies.

Beauty contained, wasting away. I take them out of their boxes and brush their wings, imagining them in flight. Freedom—sometime, long ago. Reaching for a future outside these four walls.

I place them back in again.