Anticipation
Each morning Harold stood at the red mailbox in a gray suit, breath held like a final note. Thirty-two years ago she had promised him a letter. Neighbors whispered; time scoffed. Still he waited–suit coat in July. One day, that day arrived. His knees buckled. It was addressed “Beloved.”
***Faster than a speeding gummy, able to leap small buildings at a single bound Flash Fiction is a guaranteed page turner.
The preceding is satire.
Straight up, Skippy. No warranties are expressed or implied. For life advice, try a professional. For investment tips, try a dart board. For salvation, the gentleman in the robe has been handling that portfolio for 2,000 years.