Member-only story
Flash Fiction
Gas Station Pocket Universe
Out of the summer night void, a car materializes, pulling into a parking space lit by searing white luminescence spilling out of the windows. Sun-bleached posters advertise “Don’t forget the ice”, and some new alien flavors of mountain dew — “2 for 5$”. The door is stiff against the pull and then swings slowly shut by itself. There is a brief moment where the fresh night air is punctuated with rancid fried food and the memory of smoked tobacco.
A transition between the natural and artificial.
The sneakers stick to the burnt-orange tiled floor, making a satisfying sound as they peel off with each step. A maudlin country tune strums faintly.
The cashier leans on the counter, an unlit cigarette between the red-acrylic-nailed fore and middle finger, a smartphone held in the other hand. She watches peering over her tortoise-shell framed glasses.
The reflection in the fridge’s glass door is filtered by a spectrum of color — sodas, energy drinks, flavored milk, and beers.
Just water is needed.
The gentle hum and whir of the fridges and slushie machines serenade the scene — as the seal of the fridge is broken and the water bottle taken.
