What if someone walked into your life claiming to know everything about you—secrets and all—and they weren’t wrong?
First Line:
He sat down across from me at the diner, smiled like an old friend, and said, “You buried her under the sycamore tree, didn’t you?”
Opening Paragraph:
My fork froze mid-air. The hum of fluorescent lights seemed to stop. I stared at the man, mid-thirties, no distinguishing features—just a flannel shirt, a scar near his eye, and a voice too calm to match his words. I had never seen him before in my life. Or had I? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, my voice thinner than I’d hoped. He chuckled softly, reached into his coat, and pulled out a photograph—one I’d burned three years ago in the rusted barrel behind my cabin. “Relax,” he said, pushing the picture across the table like it was a menu. “I’m not here for justice. I’m here for answers. She was my sister.” The diner’s bell jingled behind him. A family entered, laughing, unaware that the world had just turned inside out. My hands trembled. I wasn’t sure if I was more terrified of what he wanted—or what he already knew.
3 Flash Fiction Questions:
- Who is the narrator, and what dark truth are they hiding?
- What does the stranger really want—and is he telling the whole truth?
- How can a buried secret reshape the future of both characters?