For a little while AOL had a site called... ficlets. Short works of fiction. And I used it occasionally. I found them today in my email... and I thought I'd share them. It's been a few years. Some of these came from prompts and some were spun around photos. You don't have to read them. They're just here. Some I think are contrived and some I genuinely love. Just so you know. please be kind.
Rumor:
I knew I
shouldn’t have done it. But that hadn’t
ever stopped me before. Before I could
stop myself, the words just flew out of me.
“She did IT!”
the gasp wasn’t audible…but the vacuum caused by what I had said permeated
every corner.
Faster than it had begun, the network of whispers and flying fingers
communicated my gaffe and her triumph to the rest of our graduating class.
Laughing, she smacked me and tauntingly said, “Did what?”
Perfected Purgatory: I suppose
they were beautiful. But the truth is,
they were too perfect. The onslaught of
pristine streets, homes, decorations… everything had been so subtle. We’ll replace that with something better…
we’ll replace that with something better…
And now the details that made unique people, people… they were
disappearing. And soon nothing would be
the same. Or rather, everything would be
the same. Perfect, Pristine, Paradise.
Boulder Hill: The
truth… they say it hurts. I find the vacant moments when you can’t help but let
the silence crowd your soul …the truth creeps in.
and here’s the truth of my current situation.
I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing. I don’t know who to talk to, or
where to turn. My comfort zone has shrunk to a bulls eye, and all my darts are
dull.
How long has it been since someone really listened. Really, it’s been too long.
And making that moment change. Starting the boulder down the hill. all those
things are scary, because you don’t know where the the boulder will go.
so I stand. and push. and push.
and at the last moment on the brink of disaster, I realize that where I’m at is
no different from what I can see at the bottom of the hill. and so I leave the
boulder at the top of the hill and roll…
I should have seen the briars.
Star-crossed Lovers: The rain
pounded down around me as my umbrella threatened to rip itself away from my
tightly clenched fist. Suddenly a gust of wind tugged the sheltering nylon up
and away. Throwing my head back, I looked up at the dark sky to try and
pinpoint where it had gone. In a flash through the raindrops I saw that dot of
light that was her in my mind.
“Evie,” I’d said. “Every time
you look at that star, I’m thinking about you.”
It was true as always. And as the
rain soaked through the collar of my flimsy windbreaker memories of her flooded
my mind. Memories of her dancing with her head thrown back and her arms
welcoming the heaven sent blessings.
Then the rain reminded just where
we were. I was here. And she had been ripped away from me as surely as the
umbrella I’d just held moments ago.
Beautiful, brilliant, and just as
untouchable as that summer.
But the star was there, and it
would always be her.
Finished First:
Laying in bed
drowsily she smiled as her roommates excitedly chattered about what would
happen. They eagerly flipped through the pages to find specific events, and
stopped abruptly at their bookmarks.
Silence pervaded the atmosphere. As the sliding of pages slipped through the
room, the steady whomp, whomp, whomp of the fan seemed to get louder.
From across the room a stifled squeal of excitement shattered the silence.
She smiled serenely, because she knew. She knew what happened, and that made
for a very satisfying feeling.
Blushing Bride:
She was his.
Every single glowing inch of her. from the crown of her shimmering golden hair
to the tips of her carefree bare toes.
Emily never thought she was beautiful.
She was stupid that way.
But today, today no one- not one person within a mile of her could deny it.
Today Emily was beautiful.
The simple white dress spread out on the steps around her. It seemed to only
accentuate the happiness that the rest of us could only bask in.
Blotted Musings:
“she wondered
just how long it would be until someone noticed she was gone.”
Just as he deftly punctuated the last sentence, the ink blotted.
That was the 6th manuscript ruined. Stupid blots. Stupid.
He had just gotten back into Carin’s head. The character had finally come back
alive, and he had to blot it. Why could things never work out the way they did
in stories? His mistakes were never the romantic hero type. He just had
problems with penmanship and shipping. No duels, no secret trysts with lovely
young maidens. Merely insignificant details in a dusty mote ridden workspace.
He couldn’t even write well or fast enough to merit a window.
Forlornly sharpening a new pen nib, Ian
went back to elaborately describing the suicidal plottings of his willowy
ethereal Carin.
Nothing to Search For:
I quietly
slid behind the desk. Smoothing out my skirt I positioned my hand over the keyboard
and quickly pressed the necessary keys. With a satisfying click I tapped the
enter button and the screen hummed to life.
Looking at my reflection in the screen I asked myself why I was here. Quickly I
recalled the past 5 months as if it had been a romance novel about some other
woman.
What is so difficult about telling the truth? Why can’t people just be honest
with each other? I had told him everything. What right did he have to keep
anything from me? I had to know. It had been too long, and it was my right to
know. Wasn’t it?
Silently I pulled up an search engine, my fingers got ahead of themselves.
Absentmindedly hitting the enter key before anything had been entered, the
machine whirred to life. Efficiently the computer reminded me, “Nothing to search
for.” Maybe…maybe it was right. the hunk of metal, plastic, and random wiring
was right. After years of blindness and months of deceit, there was nothing
left.
Keeping the pieces:
“NO!!! no,
no, no…”
This couldn’t be happening to me!
He was screaming at the men. He had no control. The first man turned to him,
offering his hand. I struck out. He recoiled. Again he offered. Palm out.
Something in the gesture stopped my rage. I looked into his face and the tears
I saw unwept in his eyes convinced me. This man was not to blame.
Slowly I accepted the hand of
“the enemy.” I turned and saw his companion gathering my brother into his arms.
I wanted to scream, to leave him alone. He was all I had left and it was my job
to protect him. Mine! It’s why we’re brothers. But this was different. I was
used to fighting, grabbing for each piece of… of anything.
Now, the only remnants of home
that I had were carried along by the strong, but tired legs of the American in
front of me. And I wasn’t sure how much longer Isaac
would last. On the streets, he had been dying. I had been counting the days.
Now… maybe this way… maybe we could keep the pieces together.
Dead Beginnings:
A breeze drifted
by aimlessly, startling me out of my reverie. I realized in the silence, that
I’d been dreaming again. The child never existed! I furiously berated myself
for dreaming. I didn’t have time for mistakes in my line of work, but I found
myself dwelling on the one mistake, I couldn’t fix. I couldn’t forget.
Two years ago, almost exactly. I
had tried to stop the pregnancy to avert the disaster before anyone could be
harmed. The sad truth was, I had succeeded.
The only one I couldn’t stop from
hurting was me. Everyday I’d been haunted by the image, no the vision of who
those luminescent, ethereal brown eyes could have been. Who they were already.
And I hated myself. That was it.
Everyday I hit the wall. The Dead Ends.
Perhaps Not:
She’d thought the
empty house could bring new beginnings, yet the resounding silence reminded her
of just how long it had been since someone,
anyone
had called.
As the steady dripping of her
drying tears faded into silence, she wondered just how long it would be until
someone noticed she was gone.
Starting Over in Silence:
It was
funny, looking back. At the moment, Tia
leaving had been just the next thing that happened. It wasn’t a huge inciting
incident. It wasn’t a drastic tragedy. It just was. It was the next thing.Real
silence.She hadn’t expected it to be so loud.
The final wave goodbye. The engine’s rumble faded away.Turning she surveyed the
random debris from six energetic girls, women really, leaving the small house
they’d come to love together. This step was supposed to be the one that
mattered. Choosing a career. Finding a spouse. Continuing your education.
In general, the people who had come and gone on frantic friday evenings, slow
mondays, wednesdays…each person had given her something. And here she was.
Holding the things they’d given her. Clutching the air desperately, her empty
fists struck out at imagined demons and fleeting shadows.
Announced:
Susan
enjoyed this little jaunt down the lane every morning. The crisp fresh air, the
light sunshine, and the excitement of receiving mail, even if it was only bill
notices, always felt like a good way to start off her day.
And today, she had something to mail.
Pulling open the mailbox, she
noticed an extra thick envelope. The formal creamy color and texture of the
envelope intrigued her. Splicing open the end of the letter, two small photos
slipped onto the gravel walkway.
Swiftly she retrieved the pictures and slid open the elegantly embossed card.
It read:
We are dismayed to announce the
divorce of Johnathan and Sara
Richardson. After five sequential
years of marriage, their divorce will be finalized at 255 Lily Dr at the law firm of Smith,
Call and Lands. Any correspondence should be sent to the enclosed addresses of
the specified parties. Johnathan and Sara
would like to thank you for your support and love during this difficult time.
Slowly her stack of sealed
letters scattered with the wind.
Announcements:
“Enough? How can
you say that love isn’t enough? That’s all we had, and now we have so much more
than that. Look what we’ve been able to build. Together. “
“Jonathan-
I… you know as well as I do, we’ve been done for a long time. “
“I just can’t- It can’t be done!
After all of this, we just abandon everything and walk away? “
“One foot in front of the other.
The same way we got into this.”
“Maybe that’s how you got into
this. Me? I jumped.”
“My only hesitation, is… how do
we tell everyone?”
“I don’t know Sara. Maybe we can tell them the same way we got into
it. Announcements.”
Waiting to hear:
Time had passed.
and unlike so many cliches and fortune cookie sayings, it had not passed
quickly.
The memory of him gazing at me through the dusty flecked windshield was
permanently inscribed on that day.
The snow outside belied the fact that it could ever be swelteringly hot here.
So hot, the sweat seems to roll in rivers down my back.
Now six months later ,the little moisture to be found in the air seemed to
glaze over the numerous goosebumps on my arms.
I slipped into my coat, and
reached into my gloves looking for some lost warmth.
I slowly trudged down the
driveway. It stretched endlessly down to the old rusty faithful mailbox.
In what seemed to take hours I
finally turned to fumble at the handle. The thick fingers of my gloves made
grasping anything a very elusive task. So I risked the inevitable, slipped one
hand out of it’s sanctuary, and flipped the mailbox open.
The musty smell, and taunting
clang of the emptiness were all too familiar for someone who just needed relief
from fear.
Slant Eyed Focus:
I closed my
eyes and struggled to remember what the paper had said.
The sweat dripped slowly, oh so slowly down my eyelid and slipped through the
vanguard of eyelashes to rest, stinging my eye.
Needs to focus That’s what it had said!
was that why dad left us? Mom said he loved me, but maybe I just hadn’t focused
enough.
How do you focus on something?
How do you focus on something?
How do you focus on something?
dictionary dictionary dictionary. I need to know.
FOCUS : Main emphasis concentrated effort or attention on a
particular thing, area of concern, sharpness of image, focal point disease
origin point on cone, adjust lens adjust vision…
but none of those things make
sense. I can focus just fine. tommy was the one who couldn’t see right. He
lived on the next block…Why did I need focus?
But Mom said to always listen to
the teacher, so I picked up the paper, screwed my eyes up to a squint, and
tried again.
Nothing changed.
Distances:
These words aren’t
personal. They’re descriptive.
Each character is inscribed by
cold hard lines.
I can’t get close enough to feel
the empathy I eloquently phrase.
Couched in rhythmic sweet tones
of pure irony I write what I cannot feel.
From the tip of my pen to the
paper seems immeasurable to the throbbing of my heart.
Picture Perfect Memory:
Side by
side. Moment by moment. The memories were drawn together and woven through the
holes in my memory were rosebeds waiting to bloom. Rust colored skies, bright
blue bikes, yellow sparrows, green grass, all fenced in by a black thread of
honesty. The thorns crept through the vanguard of truth to catch at my
shirtsleeves and shred my pride with what I’m hiding.
The colours ran with each tear I
shed.
Which was odd, because I didn’t
think colored pencil color could bleed.
The tip of my finger swept up
some sapphire tears and I tasted freedom, clean freedom.
The red sky I’d sketched smelled
bitter.
I saw the green, green grass and
visions of success came with waves of dollar bills.
I heard the yellow birds
chirping, and I thought it was joy.
I felt the black edged picture
shake with fear.
I found a new crisp white sheet
of paper and I felt hope.
Sitting on a
shelf, Waiting: No! It’s not fair. Why is it that Alex
gets to leave? What makes it so that I’m the one standing here watching. . .
watching him walk away. He should have to know how it feels. He said change
would be good. He said that- it doesn’t matter what he said. It matters what I
say. It matters what I do. I hate being left. I hate being right. He drove away
just the way I knew he would. A sincere, trite, wornout apology. I’ll put it
back on the shelf, he’ll find it when he comes back. As he always does.
Word Vomit 2: Then vomit was
everywhere. All over him.
Apparently words were the only
thing I couldn’t get out.
Word Vomit:
It all started upside
down. Well perhaps it was up.
And that was the problem.
I could feel everything inside me trying to right itself.
I resisted. I would just let it all out.
Then the world turned.
“He rescued me! How dare he
rescue me!” I could feel myself protesting feebly as my lips were fervently
sucking away at the rim of the cup trying to wash away the scent of vomit from
the back of my mouth.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he
asked.
I turned to give a grade A tongue lashing to what I assumed would be an
overeager, but thoroughly charming young man.
Unfortunately I was all too correct on the thoroughly charming part.
” I…” “I…”
For the second time in as many
minutes I was speechless.
Plop:
PLOP !
Perspiration dripped, sliding,
slowly, achingly down the salt trail left from the tears I had cried hours
before. Alone with no one to see, it must not exist.
Lying face down on the dock, the
little drop sent waves shimmering out into the lake.
Out there, a sylph catalogued my
woes that were numbered by my tears and evidenced in concentric circles.
Patience , I think “time will
ease my-” No. I want this pain to remind me. And the ripples ebb against the
dock that I cannot leave.
Plop
