[Flash fiction] The receipts

My first Flash June 2026 story, based on a writing prompt

It's Flash June! As part of a flash workshop I'm taking through the To Live & Write community, I'm starting the month off with a flash fiction piece based on the prompt "They Brought the Receipts."

Cold water smashes between my eyes when I open the door. I shriek and wipe my face, bleeding mascara onto my blouse.  

Gasps and guffaws blend with the morning chatter of sparrows. “Yo! Where are you, shitheads?” I’m not actually mad, but I play along. “Charlotte, I got attacked!”

“Oh my god!” my daughter yells from upstairs. 

Her classmates’ heads, one a fuzzy brown mushroom and one slick and blond, rise behind the car hood. I recognize them: Jake and…somebody. Her high-school class is embroiled in Senior Assassin—teams stalking each other with water guns—and these two are playing the most cutthroat game so far. 

“Why are you yelling?” My husband Matt appears behind me in the doorway. I didn’t know he was awake.

I laugh, too brightly. “These guys came to shoot Charlotte.” 

He blanches. I’ve said the wrong thing. “With water, Matt. We talked about it last night, remember?” 

He retreats inside. The boys stand up. They’re wearing cartoon-covered arm “floaties” that serve as their protective armor. I flick my hand at them. “Scram.”

Before they can move, my husband rushes past in such a blur I don’t see the baseball bat until he’s out of my reach. 

“Get off my property, bastards! I’ll beat your asses!” 

From the looks on their faces, it’s clear nobody’s threatened physical harm to these boys in their short and precious lives. 

They run. Jake Two half-turns, a smartphone at his shoulder. Winning at Senior Assassin requires video evidence of each “kill.” Naturally, he’s filming the whole thing. 

An absurdist scene ensues: a thug in pajama pants and bare feet chasing spindly boys, a desperate woman grasping at air behind them. At last I catch a handful of shirt and pull Matt to a stop. 

“It’s just a game!” I’ve perfected this soothing tone since the brain tumor colonized Matt’s brain, transforming him into a warring force. “We’re not in danger.” I get my arms around him and hold on, in the middle of the street, until I feel him come back into himself. He starts to tremble.

I catch the bat as he drops it. He shuffles back to the house, his head hanging. 

Down the block, I check driveways and under cars for the boys. In front of a house under construction, I open a port-a-potty and find them huddled inside, shaking with nervous laughter. I step back to let them tumble out.

 “I need you to delete that video.”

They’re too well-bred to tell me to fuck off, but they glare at me in defiance.

“We’re dealing with a tough family situation,” I say. The police and the social workers are already sniffing around; I can’t let this video get out. “What can I do?”

“Make Charlotte and Aurora forfeit the game,” Jake Two says. 

“Done.”

He pokes at the screen until a whoosh confirms the file is gone. His face glows, delighted to achieve the all-consuming thing his heart most desires.