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Flash fiction.

Megan Preston Meyer
Megan Preston Meyer

There were ghosts outside.

She could see them flitting past the window, vaporous, just shifts in the light, really.

Or were they inside? Were they behind her? Were they reflections on the glass? The depth of field played tricks on her, but ghosts were tricky by their very nature.

She said a silent prayer and reframed them as angels. Then she got back to work.