The Rescue

Photobooth | Flash Fiction Prompt #19

Image by Tanya Barrow on Unsplash

[embed]Friday Flash Fiction Prompt July 2026 | Prompt #19medium.com

She paced along the side-street, hands inside the vest-pocket, soldiers twisted, turned and squeezed to avoid passersby. “Thief!” someone yelled.

She traced the judging eyes. Slipping through a gap between pedestrians, she dashed, grabbing the apple in the vest-pocket, hoping it was worth it. Distracted by an old photobooth, she felt a tender hand wrap around her waist, with momentum they collided and spun together toward the boot. Instead of hitting the door she found herself inside, cramped along with the stranger.

She saw the stunning face of her rescuer. The moments slowed, butterflies in her stomach, she didn’t remember the hunger, or the bruise on her back. Her head made an unconscious tilt, her lips stopping an inch apart. Suddenly, she was conscious of her breath.

After a blip, or an eternity, she heard a soft, minty voice “You shouldn’t steal”.

She blinked and the beautiful face was gone.

I found it very hard stopping at 150 words. I guess that’s what flash fiction means to teach us — to be efficient with words, to let readers fill in the gaps and most importantly, to let go.

Please share your thought about the story in the comments — how it made you feel, any suggestions or just anything that pops into your mind at the time.