Flash

Category B: Highly Commended (2025) Monash Short Story Writing Competition
Author: Amber Mestdagh

The heat of the day burned down upon her skin until she could feel her brain sizzling along with her body. The sweat didn’t seem to slow as she took the collar of her shirt with her thumb and index and wiped the arch of her nose. Her bus was late – dreadfully so – and the fiery air buzzing around her only increased her impatience. The log she sat on bore deeper into her bones, and the cars puffing past only made her long for the chance to arrive home sooner. She could see where the bus was on her phone, as she insistently abused the reload icon. Tap, 10 stops. Tap, 9. Tap, still 9. She let out an impatient sigh to herself and stiffened on the log. If I stay like this, the heat is bearable, she declared to herself, yet the sun glaring upon her body did not show mercy. She peeled her eyes away from her phone, her neck aching in defiance, and stared willfully towards the oncoming traffic.

 And there it was.

Her sweet haven of cool air and backboned seats sped towards her stop. She stumbled from her log, her right hand diving into her pocket to tap on, and her left arm swinging her bag onto her back. As she reached the doors of heaven, she glanced at her other to-be passengers boarding, their faces etched with similar relief to hers. She was the last to ascend, and as she stepped up onto the bus, the blissful icy air hit her and she grinned, cheek to cheek. No seats remained apart from one facing another set of passengers. She giddily plopped herself down, sliding her bag between her legs. She peered up at the two people across from her, a lady to her left and a man to her right. The lady had dark features and bronzed skin with black unruly hair reaching her shoulders. A deep auburn lipstick was smudged around her mouth, and if her features hadn’t been imprinted in worry, her makeup was a tell-tale of her untimeliness. Her large, white eyes darted around the bus as though she were worried that everybody had a silent judgment towards her. The man on the right had a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a cleft chin that jutted past his nose. He had white wired headphones connected to a caseless phone, seemingly new. His eyes were fixed out the window behind her, his gaze unwavering and steady, yet occasionally drifting towards his phone.

The bus continued down its route, the gentle push and pull of picking up and dropping off passengers lured her into cooled calmness. She glanced at the man’s phone, which was oddly angled in her direction. She had a slight thought that he may have been taking a picture of her, yet brushed it aside at the improbability of such a thing. She slid her headphones into her ears and hit play, gently tapping her foot to the floor of the bus in-beat with her music. She again peered at the man’s phone, still directed towards her seated body, but now the camera was partially covered by his fingers as he held it on his lap, perhaps sensing her unease at its angle. She lazily watched the phone for another half second, and then noticed the flash go off.

The whole of her body froze.

She alarmingly stared at the woman on the right, whose darting eyes had now relocated on her phone, and paid no attention. Had he just taken a photo of her? Or had it been a mistake? A mis-click perhaps? She looked down upon herself. Nothing was revealing or picture-worthy about her, long grey pants that bagged at her ankles, and a white t-shirt that too bagged upon her waist. Maybe it had been an honest mistake from the man. She stared pointedly at him, his eyes ignoring hers, unfalteringly focused out the window behind her. She didn’t know what to do. Should she say something? If the flash goes off again, I’ll move, she promised herself. Seats on the bus had now freed up, a few nearing the back that she could flee to. It became her mission to watch the man’s camera, to keep this promise to herself.

With her eyes surveying like an eagle, it became apparent that the man was taking photos. No person would naturally hold a phone angled so far in another’s direction without good reason, and this man had none. One more flash, she repeated her mantra, one more flash, and I’ll move. Her mind churned.

Maybe he was, no – he definitely was, there was no way to be sure, why would he? What was he going to do with her photo if he was?

Her mind burned, her palms sweat, and as she peered at the phone again her chest tightened.

His hands no longer concealing the camera, another flash pounded into her eyes.

Her head whipped to the lady on the left, whose eyes darted from the camera to her. She would say something, she had to, she had to have the courage to stand up.

Yet the lady remained seated and her ruby smothered lips remained sealed.

She saw red. What sort of sick person would do this?

One more flash and I’ll call him out, the distrusting voice within her head echoed. One more and I’ll find the courage.

But as her body shook with hatred and shock, her lips remained shut. They stayed this way when she got off at her stop, when she walked home in the glaring sun. They stayed this way when she made it home, and when she arrived at school the next day.

Maybe the man had, or maybe he hadn’t. She never have the guts to speak a word.