MICROCOSM FLASH FICTION

Her Private Oblivion

My ex was an accident waiting to happen

Street crossing. Photo by Isaac Garcia on Unsplash

“Crazy isn’t a condition, it’s a place, and it exists somewhere between love and oblivion.” ― Stanley Victor Paskavich, Return to Stantasyland.

“Alyssa? Are you there?”

She didn’t answer. I heard only muted voices, ebbing and flowing like ocean waves. Then a siren cut through the air. I wondered whether someone had shot her or run her off the road. I hoped it was nothing — perhaps she had dialed my number by accident. She was often in her head, oblivious to her surroundings.

When we first married, I thought I could help reduce the drama in her life. But over the years, I realized she resisted stability. No amount of medication, therapy, or reasoning could keep Alyssa out of trouble.

“Alyssa? Are you alright?”

I was worried.

An hour later, Alyssa called me from a local hospital emergency room. She said she was fine, but she didn’t sound like herself. She was crossing the street at the light after leaving CVS with her prescriptions for lithium and Lexapro. Alyssa must have been thinking about something she shouldn’t have been instead of watching the road when a Ford pickup blindsided her, sending her flying on impact. Alyssa lay on the street in a daze, perhaps trying to call me, her good Samaritan.

They kept her in the hospital for tests and observation. She didn’t know what hit her, but she remembered crossing the street at the light. It seemed her god of misfortune had spared her this time, leaving only a few minor bruises and a concussion. However, when I saw her in the hospital, she looked awful.

Her accident didn’t surprise me. There had been others. It was part of a pattern. She would get into trouble — whether legal, financial, or physical — face harsh consequences, and eventually recover. I figured Alyssa would recover from this, too.

“Mark, could you do me a big favor?”

“Of course.”

“Please get me a few pairs of new panties.”

The last time I got her a pack of panties was when she was in the psychiatric ward. She stayed there for weeks after attempting suicide. She told me then that wearing new underwear made her feel more put-together.

“No problem, Alyssa.” I hoped it would make her feel better.

“Macy’s has an excellent selection, Mark.”

I nodded.

“What size?”

“Seven.”

“Are there any particular kinds?”

“Cotton. I can’t wear the nylon ones.”

Even though I bought her a pack of cotton panties, it didn’t repair her brokenness. Her hospital stay turned from recovery into a nightmare.

“Now they think I have a blood disorder. They’re going to keep me in for more testing.”

“That’s a bummer, Alyssa.”

She shrugged her shoulders and didn’t seem overly worried.

A blood disorder might have explained her weight loss and haggard appearance. I hoped whatever she had wasn’t serious and that treatment could help. Three weeks later, she was still in the hospital and not getting any better. More tests revealed a new diagnosis. A rare form of cancer that spread through her body like wildfire. In less than a month, Alyssa could hardly speak and was on a feeding tube. She shrank into someone unrecognizable. Her veins stood out on her arms like snakes. She had black circles under her eyes, and her neck was as thin as a pencil.

“I’m going to die,” she said. “I don’t need you to get panties for me anymore.”

She laughed and began to choke. Quickly, I poured her a glass of water.

I spent the last few days of her life going back and forth between the hospital and home.

She apologized for things she might have said in the past and thanked me for being a good friend. I apologized for my role in not making our marriage work.

As silly as it sounds, I think she was happy in her last days. She said she felt relieved, even as the cancer was eating away at her body.

“I can feel my soul moving toward a lovely state of nothingness,” she said.

She died with her eyes closed, beaming the most beautiful Buddha-like smile, as if she had reached her own private oblivion.

© 2026 Mark Tulin

Many thanks to May More for her writing prompt — Fault Line

[embed]The Tension Before the Rupture A flash fiction writing prompt — Fault Linemedium.com