Flash Fiction: Vanished

All I do now is tick. On the same counter he left me before he disappeared. His wife’s ring is next to me. It is golden and sparkling as the day she left it. But they both have vanished. All I can do now is tick.

It’s been ten years ten months and twenty-two days since his disappearance. That’s a God-awful amount of ticking, but I do it anyway. The band that supports my face has begun to take an auburn color. Rust is settling in just fine. Vegetation once kept outside and tended have crept its way in. Vines curl and crawl within the inner wall of the room. Patches of weeds poke out through hardwood, moss has conquered most of the floor anyway.

The door just opened. Could that be him? The footsteps seem small, so faint. Still could that be my owner? Long claws trod on moss covered hardwood. The bedroom door creaks open. The wolf bares its fangs searching for prey. It fur glossy and wet from the rain, it’s scrawny. It leaves with no food.

No one’s bothered to even check the house. They are all gone. They must all have vanished. And all I can do is tick. Tick. Tick.

If you have a writing prompt you’d like for me to tackle next, leave it for me below. I’d be glad to give it a shot. Jasmin, my wife, suggested this prompt to me a few weeks ago. Thank you for reading!


Author: Austin L. Wiggins

Austin L. Wiggins is a poet, fiction writer, and essayist from Southern California. He runs a blog called Writings By Ender where he publishes his work every Saturday. Austin is also co-creator and writer for the upcoming literature magazine titled “Beautiful Losers”.

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