Flash: Early Notification (V is for Veronica)

Photo by Mathias Reding on Unsplash

Flicking through the letters, Veronica pulled out the only one not a political ad and dropped the rest into the recycling bucket tucked under the entry way table inside the front door. She sorted through the pile on top of the table looking for the letter opener among the things which didn’t make it past the front door. Coins, keys, rocks, two mini chocolate bars from Halloween, paperclips, a dried pen, the electric bill due next week – oops, no, it had been a week, due tomorrow, but no letter opener.

“Where did it end up this time?” A quick search of the house revealed the jeweled hilted piece of metal in the bathroom, likely to remove the plastic around the bacterial soap. She had thrown a fit last time Jericho had used one of the good kitchen knives for the task.

Moving to the apartment’s living room, Veronica slit open the pristine letter, dropping the letter opener beside the cable remote. She would need to remember to return that to the front door. The letter came out crisp, on expensive paper. She unfolded the tri-folded white page.

“Dear…We regret to inform you…please accept our condolences…died valiantly…arrangements for funeral…”

Veronica sucked in her breath and glanced at the date. Three years and two weeks from now. More warning than the notice of surviving spouse benefits, which she got the week before her husband’s cancer diagnosis.

Hearing a key in the front door, she tucked the letter into her purse on the sofa.  She would need to put it with the other governmental letters she got early.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Hey, Mom,” Jericho exploded in the room. “The recruiters came by the school today to help us seniors get everything in order for the draft sign up.”

(words 296; first published 4/27/2026)