Another piece of flash fiction.

Topper Red - Missing

Topper Red is 23. Driving home from work in the dense dark, his mind lapses for a few seconds. Distracted by a phone call. Maybe a loved one. Reporting news of ’dinner getting cold.’

The music. The blinding lights. The two bright eyes of an oncoming lorry. Too much to concentrate on at once. Screeching. Smashing. A fire…maybe even an explosion. A hospital bed. A flat-line. And then. Nothing. Darkness. Silence.

I woke up in a forest, the smell of warm morning moisture in the air, and the sound of nature’s orchestra in the ether. Where was I? And who was I? I fumbled in my suit. It was jet-black and lined with a blood-red fleece, like the inside of a coffin. I found the wallet, cold and black, and removed any identification for an answer. Topper Red, date of birth 30th December 1982. I contemplated for a moment and then I remember, that’s right, I’m Topper, 23, married, bank manager. I placed my wallet back in the suit, and then I looked all around.

“Hello.” My voice cut through the ‘sounds of the forest’, all of a sudden I could hear nothing but pure silence. I had nothing else in my pockets, and I had no clue in which direction to set out. The forest seemed to go on forever, an endless expanse of Elm and Sycamore. I still also had no idea how I got here, or indeed, where exactly ‘here’ was. I was lost. The irony of the moment crafted my mouth into a smile - I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

Lost, confused and tired. And now, this. The heavens opened, and it started to violently rain. As the crystal balls fell to the ground, I shrugged my shoulders, and kept on walking.