Flash Fiction: “A Personal Normalcy”  

Source: From Moonshine, Paul Klee, Artist

by LJ Frank

She preferred light. Curtains on windows appear irrelevant in an age where privacy no longer existed.

The moonlight shining through her 5th story window woke her before the buzz of her alarm clock. She had an hour to spare. A quick shower and some pale lipstick, she slipped on her bra, panties and stockings she received in the mail the day before.

Her apartment was a block from the hospital on the edge of the university’s main campus.  Adjusting her uniform and soft leather footwear she then stretched a mask over her head to cover her face except for her eyes, put on a rain jacket and slung her leather bag across her shoulder and let it rest on her back. She briefly wondered what was in store for her that night. Normalcy died years ago. Her personal normal varied each night. The shift of the night so to speak. And some nights it was just the night that cloaked the activity, that and a cup of green tea to help manage her cholesterol. She grabbed her helmet hanging on a coat stand. Once in the apartment garage with helmet in hand she put it on, climbed on her low seat red motorcycle. Her travel time would be five minutes. 

She traveled fast. By the sixth minute as she entered the lobby a man dressed in a suit with an open collar under his suit coat and a stethoscope hanging around his neck greeted her through his mask. “Hi Jean. You always look so professional and ready.”

“Of course, Simon. It’s the nature of the work.”



“I brought my stethoscope.”

“I noticed. It’s entirely appropriate all things considered. And so?”

“The room is on the top floor.”

Jean nodded and then asked, “Shall we?” 

“By all means. We just have to keep our masks on.”

“If nothing else.”

“Did you bring it?” Simon asked.

“It’s in my bag.”


“The moon is full, and masks betray no smile,” Jean said, as they entered the elevator.