Flash fiction is really short storytelling.  So, here’s something under 300 words.. It’s called Tick tock

Tick tock – the loud wall clock.  Only ten minutes to catch the bus.  He’s still asleep.  Dog still asleep too.  Tiptoe, quiet now.  Unhook the key beside the door.  The sliding closet door makes a noise so no coat, just the sweater I left on the chair last night.  Slip my feet into my moccasins and time to open the front door with its hinge that I oiled last week.  Turn the latch on the lock as slow as slow can be so that not even the little click will be heard.  Look around fast, last look around.  Careful with the screen door that slams.  Just ease it back and let it settle silky smooth into the frame.  Quick, quick and soft down the steps and quick quick down the street.  No running, mind!  Don’t want anyone to notice me in the first morning light.  Feel the roll of money buttoned into my front pocket.  How good it feels, that firm lump.  Lump of freedom, lump of deep breaths, fattened up over months.  Round the corner and run now, run, as much as I want. Can I run after so long walking slow and quiet in the house of tick tock?  Not far to go.  Just to the bus station and there’s the Voyageur bus and the driver smiling and opening the door.  “Hey, almost missed it, little lady.”  And the bus sways out of the terminal and I wonder how far I can go on the lump in my pocket.  I make my way to the little toilet in the back of the bus and I wrap the key in paper and throw it into the waste basket.