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Reap the Reward: Flash Fiction by Cindy Rosmus

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Art by Bernice Holtzman © 2026

REAP THE REWARD

 

by

 

Cindy Rosmus

 

 

          Twice, so far, I’d tricked death. Without realizing it.

           “It’s this building,” Rocco, my ex, said. “The apartment numbers, and letters, they’re all screwed up.” He was the super now, lived in the basement, but still didn’t know which apartment was which.

           Something to do with A meaning “first,” B meaning “second,” so . . .

           “You being in E-4,” Rocco said, smirking, “Confused the reaper. Poor guy.”

           Or girl. Who knows what Death really looked like? In Twilight Zones, it was Robert Redford and that creepy hitchhiker guy. 

           Both times he (or she!) hit the wrong place. That math professor in D-4, whose wife left him, followed by Susie next door, in E-5, who tended bar at Scratch’s. Lots of free drinks would be missed, I thought, with poor Susie gone.

           But better her than me.

           Mysteriously, both their hearts gave out in place of mine. Within a week.

           “He’s getting closer,” Rocco said. Like he could care less.

           “Gotta tell you,” he said, after they’d found Susie all bug-eyed, on her bathroom floor. “When I got the call . . .” He squeezed my arm. “And heard ‘wellness check’ in ‘E-5,’ I was tearing up.”

           “I’m E-4,” I said.

           But as the EMTs brought out Susie in a bag, I was lost in his touch. I guessed I still loved him. One last fling, I thought, before I croaked.

           “How do you feel?” he asked today. “Do you have chest pains?”

           On the fifth-floor landing, we stood, him leaning on the mop. Finally, he was cleaning the hallways.

           “No,” I said. As near-death as I should’ve been, I felt great. Rallying, the docs called it. Geniuses, right?

           Don’t you know?, I told them, There’re more old drunks than old doctors?

          “I’m hungry,” I said, cracking a beer. “Let’s order a pie.”

           The pizza guys, too, always confused these apartments. But maybe, just once, he’d get it right, first try. While the pie was scorching-hot. Just once, I thought, before I croaked.

          A half hour later, Rocco was inside, downing my last beer. The mop abandoned. I hoped Pizza Man didn’t trip over it on his way up.

          Footsteps, I heard, at first distant, then closer. Not trudging up five flights, like you’d expect. But prancing. Like instead of a job, the feet were doing it just for fun.

          “I’ll get it,” Rocco said, when my bell rang.

          “E-4?” the guy asked jovially. “E, like in ‘Edward,’ E meaning ‘fifth,’ and “one-two-three-four?’”

         “Yeah,” I heard Rocco say.

          He started choking. Or gasping. Then there was this huge thud.

          By the time I reached him, he was dead. From the stairs I heard laughter that got fainter with those prancy footsteps.

          Teary-eyed, I sunk down beside Rocco.

          On the floor beside us was the pizza box. I smelled sausage and peppers. But we’d ordered plain.

         This time, the reaper tricked me.

         But I’ll live.

 

 

                                                      THE END        

 

     “Reap the Reward” originally appeared in Issue #20 of 10 X 10 in November 2024.

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           Cindy originally hails from the Ironbound section of Newark, NJ, once voted the “unfriendliest city on the planet.” She talks like “Anybodys” from West Side Story and everybody from Saturday Night Fever. Her noir/horror/ bizarro stories have been published in the coolest places, such as Shotgun Honey; Megazine; Dark Dossier; The Rye Whiskey Review, Under the Bleachers, Pulp Asylum, Punk Noir, The Yard and Rock and a Hard Place. She is the editor/art director of Yellow Mama. She’s published seven collections of short stories. Cindy is a Gemini, a Christian, and an animal rights advocate.

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         Bernice Holtzman’s paintings and collages have appeared in shows at various venues in Manhattan, including the Back Fence in Greenwich Village, the Producer’s Club, the Black Door Gallery on W. 26th St., and one other place she can’t remember, but it was in a basement, and she was well received. She is the Assistant Art Director for Yellow Mama.

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