[Stylist] Trolley Ride flash fiction

[anniecms64 at gmail.com]

Trolley Ride


Excerpt from A String of Stories From the Heart to the Future C 2020 

By Ann Chiappetta

 

Tara didn't like foil prints. They reminded her of those tacky velvet
paintings sold at roadside stands down South. But this one was different.
The headlamp on the trolley seemed to flicker, and the 3-D effect appealed
to her sense of whimsy. She lifted it from the rack and took a closer look.
The trolley crested a swelling hill; the steep sweep of Hyde Street sank
below the trolley's bottom like the first plummet of a roller coaster.
Alcatraz Island filled the rear ground, gray and forbidding. She nodded,
satisfied. This was how she wanted to remember San Francisco.

She looked at the picture again, not comprehending the shift when it
occurred. The longer she looked at the water, the wilder it became. Her eyes
widened. The headlamp on the trolley flashed in the afternoon sun. A
conductor greeted a passenger. The brakeman fiddled with a lever. She looked
away and glanced outside the small shop to the street beyond. No trolley.

She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and opened them. Vertigo gripped her
the instant she looked at the foil print again. She watched, terrified, as a
miniature doppelganger boarded the cable car and took a seat.

Hadn't she just done this? She'd ridden the trolley down Hyde Street to the
Embarcadero only an hour ago. Now she was watching it happen again. Panic
and confusion remained with her in the shop as her double smiled in
anticipation of a relaxing ride.

The photo-cum-video played out its scenario. The trolley carried the replica
down the hill. She stood in this shop, yet all her senses were engulfed in
the framed event. 

Tara tried to look down at her arm, feel the weight of the plastic shopping
bags she knew were there, but felt only the hardwood bench under her other,
earlier self. A familiar breeze brushed her cheek, and the briny air tingled
her nose. She tried putting the picture down but couldn't move. Fear bubbled
in her bowels, and helpless tears stood unshed in her hazel eyes.

The cable car grated to a halt in front of the store. Horrified, Tara
watched her other self enter the store, where her first self stood. The
photo turned icy-hot, leaving her with a queer numbness in her whole body.
It slipped from her grip, landed on a corner, and pirouetted before falling
with a muffled thump onto the carpeted floor.

Glancing about, careful not to draw unwanted attention, Tara took a
steadying breath, stepped over the print, and left the store.

 

 

Ann Chiappetta, Author

Anniecms64 at gmail.com

` Making meaningful connections with others through writing `

 

914.393.6605

www.annchiappetta.c <http://www.annchiappetta.c/> om Facebook Annie
Chiappetta

"We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is
waiting for us." 

*	 Joseph Campbell

 

 

 

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