FLASH FICTION

At first… I thought it was a joke.

A vending machine. In the office bathroom. No branding, no company logo. Just a squat, humming metal box, wedged between the sinks and the paper towel dispenser. A flickering LED screen that read: “PURCHASE?”

We never had a vending machine in there before. No one admitted to installing it. No one questioned it.

I figured it was some kind of weird employee perk. I swiped my card and pressed a random button. The machine whirred. A small, unmarked package dropped into the tray.

Inside was a single key.

No label. No explanation. Just a key, cold and smooth in my palm.

I threw it away.

The next time I entered the bathroom, the machine was waiting. The LED screen pulsed.

“PURCHASE AGAIN?”

I ignored it. Washed my hands. Dried them. But when I turned to leave, I heard the mechanical clunk of something dropping into the tray.

Another key.

I stopped using that bathroom. But then the machine appeared in the second-floor restroom. Then the one on three. The LED screen no longer asked. It simply displayed:

“YOU OWE.”

I checked my bank statements. Charges. Small at first. A dollar here. Fifty cents there. Then larger. $12.99. $36.42. $198.76.