Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Ten: A Last Act Of Love (Xianru)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Love (A character handles an ordinary task with unusual and over-the-top care)

It’s always a difficult task to find the missing, especially those who have been gone for quite some time. I think people understand that- that while all efforts go into searching there is no guarantee a search will turn up anything. An unfortunate number of trails eventually run cold, the cases filed away and tucked into storage, a place they will most likely remain forever. On rare occasions new information comes to light, though it’s very rarely pleasant. I’ve never liked having to go over to that archive with all its many boxes of files sitting silently in the dim light collecting dust. It feels like a tomb. In this instance however, I have no choice, looking down at the many pages of paper scattered on my desk, this will be the newest addition to that silent archive. Consolidating the sheets into a single neat stack I clip them together before placing them into the plain beige file. Attached to the outer cover is a slip of paper with a name and a highly detailed drawing. Mentally steeling myself I grab my coat and begin the long solemn walk to the archive, carrying the file carefully with both hands. It rains softly as I walk the quiet streets making the journey from one building to another. The city sleeps blissfully unaware of my task. A sad, strange memorial  procession of one as a last act of love and recognition for the one who will join the ranks of the lost souls forgotten by the rest of the world. Entering the building I’m greeted by the night clerk who gives me a sad look upon noticing the folder in my hands before unlocking the door to the basement, allowing me to find my way on my own time. Standing at the doorway to the storage area I look through the metal grating at the shelves of boxes that seem to go on forever. Unlocking the creaky old door I push it open and wander the aisles until I find the correct spot. A brown box with a lid and a little card on the front that states the alphabetical range of its contents. Looking one final time at the file in my hands I run a few fingers over the name and the picture, as if trying to burn them into memory. “Goodnight.” I whisper to the girl in the picture before placing the file into the box and closing the lid. “I’m sorry.” Once finished I turn and walk out of the storage locker, back up the stairs, and exit the building, not once looking back. Standing in the quiet midnight in the rain among the darkened buildings only then do I realize that the tears have begun to fall.