Expiration Date by Marc Frazier
Expiration Date by Marc Frazier
My ninety-year-old mother left the home and wandered into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. I heard her calling out my name as I sat on a stool in St. Anthony’s Hall playing Texas hold ‘em. My cards fell to the table and I hurried outside to the labyrinth. From what I knew, it was easy to enter but designed to trap. I smelled her Estee Lauder which I knew lingered. You could smell that stuff from the moon.
I had to find her. She owed me fifty bucks; besides what kind of daughter didn’t try to keep track of her transient, old mother. Nonetheless, I was exhausted from texts at work, or while I was driving— always at inopportune times—regarding the latest emergency involving her. I secretly hoped at the end of the maze she would enter a room that locked behind her.
I noticed bones with bits of flesh scattered along the labyrinth. It must have been the time of year when my suburb of Lombard sacrificed seven young men and young women to the half-bull, half-man. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of my mother in a crumpled nightgown. Though far away, I could tell she was feasting on a fleshy bone, gnawing on something I didn’t want to guess at. It could have been one of her friend’s or neighbor’s grandchild, considering the age of the sacrificed young people.
I moved quickly, seeing my mother glance back. I realized she’d sensed my presence much sooner than I’d thought. At times I felt so lost myself that I feared I might never get out. I picked up my pace but often doubted the path I was taking. She was still in halfway-decent shape, and perhaps she had gathered more vigor from her gruesome to-go meal, but I knew I could catch up to her if I maneuvered successfully.
I finally came to what must have been the center of the maze to see the mythic creature and mother lying side by side. She was not moving so, after checking and not finding a pulse, I rummaged through a pocket in her nightgown and retrieved fifty bucks, wondering, like the Minotaur, if I could ever get out of here. My card games were waiting.
* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Marc Frazier 2025
Wonderfully irreverent, absurdist flash fiction. You had me from the jump. When I learned that the narrator was in fact female and was enthralled in a game of poker, I was won over anew. I suppose that the labyrinth, the Minotaur and all the rest could be elaborate metaphors for old age, but I prefer to take iit all at face value and enjoy the crazy.