Finnian Burnett

I recently took part in the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction contest. My genre was romance. I had to include the action of looking in the mirror. And I had to use the word “warm” in my 250 words. This is my story.

Melody leaned toward the mirror, frowning at her tired reflection. A flash of white caught her eye—a woman, a dress. She whipped around. “Hello? Who’s there?”

She walked out of the bathroom following a lingering trail of Le Labo Santal 33 perfume through the hallway. Was someone there? In the bedroom, another flash caught her eye as she walked past the floor-length mirror. The swirl of a skirt, a flash of red hair.

She backed away, knocking into the dresser. Her sketchpad started to fall, and Melody grabbed it. The cover fell open to the first of many sketches of a red-headed woman. “Hello?” she called again. Tucking the pad under her arm, she walked into the hallway, chasing the scent. Compelled by a desire to see her, Melody ran into the living room. Nothing. In the kitchen, Melody glimpsed herself in the stainless-steel fridge and a movement, more felt than seen brushed across her reflection. The shadow touched the Melody on the fridge and reverberated through her body.

Where was she? Melody’s heart ached to touch the woman. Had Melody drawn her to life? Had she dreamed her into this world? She ran back into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. “I’m not afraid,” she whispered.

The redheaded woman appeared in the mirror, her brown eyes warm and welcoming. She reached out a hand and for a moment, Melody stared at it. “Well?” The redhead smiled. Melody took her lover’s hand and stepped into the mirror.