Ca-thump, Ca-thump, came from the hall. Faint echoes through the main bedroom’s walls. The ca-thumps clearer when I opened the door. A steady rhythm of ca, half a second, thump, full second. No one was in the room, but I switched on the light anyway. Half of the bed was tidy; some of Dad’s clothes were in the closet and most Mom’s. I dreaded going through them. The quality faded when I went towards the bathroom, so I turned back towards the bed. I checked under it to find boxes of old photographs. When I sat on the king-size mattress to rifle through them, the ca-thumps got louder. Beneath Mom’s pillow, a tape recorder; the tape labeled, “My Love’s Heartbeat.” A few years ago, she told me that she’d rest her head on his chest most nights during their marriage. His heartbeat soothed her, silenced her anxieties, her insomnia’s antidote. She forgot to stop it before she headed to the doctor this morning.
I’m thinking about expanding it into a flash fiction piece or short story. What do you think?