Flash Fiction Friday: Google Alert

The sheets and comforter are that perfect kind of warm, the kind of warm that makes me want to freeze time and live in this fluff forever. The sun's forgotten my bedroom. Maybe I slept in, maybe it's foggy or--better yet--raining. But, the only reason I'm awake to be aware of this ideal coziness is the staccato chime of my phone telling me that I've got a message of some stripe or another. 

I snake my arm out of my bed-burrito and swing it out in a great arc so my hand can fumble around on my endtable. My careless fingers nearly send my phone onto the floor, but I grab it just before gravity takes hold. 

1 New E-Mail

How exciting...  I poke the screen and call up the message. The Google Alert I set up six months ago finally caught something. Sure, one could call it vain that I have an Alert on my own name, but I really do need to know when I've become relevant to the world at large. It's part of being an artist. 

Daily update ⋅ April 25, 2014


The Search is Over


Authorities are saying that despite the public outcry, they nationwide search has been called off. The wo-manhunt began for Portland artist and... 

My stomach implodes. I can tell from the way it went from butterflies to hornets to nausea in less time than I could breathe. I reread the alert. There's only the one story. And the date... it's only April 17th. There's no way I could have an alert from next Friday

My hand shakes as I tap the link, not sure if I'm ready to see the story but unable to stop myself. 

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