She took it long ago, and I have dreamed of getting it back ever since.
It was a summer night long ago, with a cool wind that blew the scent of heated air, leftover humidity, and car exhaust into my nose.
It was a time long ago, when I was young, and she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The neon lights of the city bounced off her hair, and her hair seemed to blaze with streaks of orange. The speckled lights from apartment windows lit up her eyes.
She pressed her hand to my chest, and I found my heart pounding. Her fingers spread out into the sweat-soaked t-shirt that clung against me. I breathed hard. Then she drew away, and I felt the heat leave me, and then I didn’t feel anything at all.
“Don’t fear,” she whispered. “I’ll give this back someday.” Then she was gone, and I was left with a cool wind and neon lights and hollowness.
There’s a little brown box on my doorstep, all bound up in craft string. My name is printed on it neatly, by a steady hand. There is no return address on it.
And I wonder, as I stand there, if she’s finally given me back my heart.
Short and sweet tonight, I didn’t get home till late. But hey, flash fiction story is better than no story. The writing prompt I got tonight was: “During the story, a mysterious package arrives.” I have the generator set to give me a prompt with a random complexity (it can have anywhere from 1 to 5 elements). Thankfully, it realized that I was tired tonight.