Should?
A chance to do it all again
This short story was written for the WB short story challenge in 2026.
Rules: Create a 1000 word story using the prompts:
Whenever someone bemoans a long slog of a day, they’re really taking for granted that life is slipping past them. At least, that’s how Bo sees it from his dirty nest of blankets and cardboard on the sidewalk next to the antique mart with the neon sign. Each new sunrise is a reminder of how far he moves from what could have been a future with Agnes.
A suited man strolls by, waving a finger at Bo to quick deposit a donation of five credits to his miserable account.
“Bless you sir,” Bo mumbles as the man waves on.
The sun begins its descent yet again, and Bo sighs. The number ninety-eight flickers over his band ID and he wonders why he even bothers. As he shakes his head, he strolls into the antique mart, greeted by Rina, the usual woman at the counter with her long braided hair and ivory colored bohemian blouse.
Each artifact is a reminder of the past, and a wistful pinch squeezes his gut when he thinks of Agnes.
A patina of dust covers his favorite antiquity, and his fingers glance over all of it. Wood grain from the nineteenth century desk cabinet swerves over the ridges in his skin, reminding him of better times. A new item catches his eye on top of the cabinet. The setting sun casts magnified orange through unusual facets of something ornate and glass hidden between a set of melamine Mickey Mouse plates and an empty jewelry box.
It’s a perfume bottle. Bo picks it up and traces each raised decoration along it’s pear-shaped sides. Amber liquid has stained the glass from the inside, sitting halfway up the bulbous body.
“That’s something truly special,” Rina says. Bo jumps at her voice, unaware she had been nearby. She slowly takes the bottle from him, and her warm fingers float over his as he hands it to her.
“One spray and you’ll be transported to another time.” Her voice is airy, and she rotates the bottle in her hand. “Would you like to try it?”
Bo raises his brow. It’s clearly women’s perfume, and quite old. He’s certain the syrupy liquid inside wouldn’t do anything to transport him anywhere but deeper into his melancholy. Or a hospital.
“You’ll love it, I promise. I just got it today. It’s been blessed.”
Holding out his hand, he tilts his head as she hands the bottle back to him. Blessed… why though? It’s just old perfume that’s probably become cancerous in its age.
“Squeeze here,” she says, “and make sure to close your eyes.”
Bo shrugs and indulges Rina, squeezing the bulb. A generous aerosol of gourmand florals squirts from the nozzle and with a deep breath, he closes his eyes. It’s familiar, yet unplaceable. He ponders it. A few more experimental whiffs and the aroma is on the edge of his memory. Still can’t place it.
Defeated, he opens his eyes. Rina is gone, and he stands in his old kitchen, light flaring through the sliding glass doors, warming the bamboo planks on his floor.
“Aren’t you off today?” The lovely voice he could never forget swims past, as that sweet floral perfume radiates from Agnes’s neck, touching his senses. This is it—the fragrance he knows.
She adjusts an earring as she strolls past him, moving to the sink to rinse out a coffee mug that soaks inside the basin.
“Bo? Are you okay?” She tilts her head toward him as the foaming soap drips from her perfect fingers.
The perfume bottle is no longer in his hands, and he stares at his empty palms for a moment before glancing at Agnes.
“I’m perfect,” he says, smiling at her. She smiles back and continues her mug rinsing. There’s no way this is real, but he’ll pretend. Just for a little while.
The suit he wears is custom made, and pressed neatly for a day at the office. He remembers this day, and he remembers it too well. It’s not a good day, and heat rises from his collar.
“Bo? I said, aren’t you off today?” Agnes sets the coffee mug into the drying rack, tapping her wet fingers against the edge of the basin.
That’s right… He’s supposed to have the day off. But he remembers choosing to work extra for more credits for purposeless reasons. It’s all meaningless without her. No matter how many extra hours he puts, he still loses his job, and Agnes still takes that faulty train to Tearny.
He clears his throat and sees her watching him with those deep hazel eyes framed with long, black eyelashes. Her dark hair spills in coils over her shoulders, and her head remains tilted, waiting for him to say something.
“Yes. Yes I’m off today.”
Her skin glows. “Oh good, because I’m thinking of going to Tearny for a movie, and I hope you’ll come with me.”
She doesn’t expect an answer right away, turning from him to polish the counter.
The candy floral aroma encircles his head, and he takes a deep breath of it. It’s a reminder of where he is now and who he becomes; a beggar on the street, pathetic and alone. No living family to run to, no friends to confide in, and no loving woman to hide inside. Could he change it? He touches the edge of the counter. It feels real. Should he change it?
Under the darkness of his eyelids, an image of the news report is clear in his mind, complete with footage of a twisted train, blackened by fire and windows blown out. It was just a trip to Tearny. The helicopter thuds in rhythmic clips as the reporter zeroes in on the flaming engine.
Rina was right, he’s been transported to another time. And this time he wouldn’t squander this opportunity to try. To change.
He moves to her place at the counter, takes her hand, and presses her fingers to his lips. “I’d love to go to Tearny with you.”
She grins.
~END