"Small" writing challenges for my small writing talent. Hotel note pads are the only space allowed. Let's see if I can strip it down and tighten it up to learn something. Improving my skill of weird fiction.
Astounding beauty, an interesting mind, our life together could be amazing; but I know that’s a bad idea. We drink wonderful red wine and talk so much our pasta plates remain half-empty, or half-full if you subscribe to her thinking. I love her. She says the same in return but, well, she won’t let us be in love. I know. I won’t either; our future together is better not lived and we are painfully content with that. If we could, would we live in love or would we throw it all away just the same? After what we have been through, what would happen? Are we able to forget and accept? Do I really feel this? Does she? I can’t go down that road now, it’s the kind of thinking that eats people up inside. Distracting. I’m lost in those emerald eyes.
A soft arm curls around mine while we stroll through the neighborhood. We discuss our families and childhoods, the possible and impossible dreams, and our future? Limbo. Shelved for any foreseeable future. Our honesty never holds back. This amazing woman stands in front of me with a look of hidden sadness. Burgundy lips and street-lit tendrils of hair in the night. Our parting with the kindest of kisses brings deeper wishes that things were different. I watch her door close and hope she lives a safe and happy life. I inhale deeply and catch what was left of lingering perfume, and then I turn, walking away for what feels like an eternity of twists and turns until I find my car.
The door thumps shut and immediately separates the outside world from the reflective silence I sit in. My hands hold a red cloth napkin from our dinner. I thought a few seconds about the night, the kiss, and what may have been our last evening together. I put the car in gear, turned left towards the Interstate – a black sedan surging into the city. The red napkin sits on my armrest where it’s suddenly snatched and unwrapped by the short Mr. Doe who lay across the rear floor under a dark blanket; exposing a hollow coin from within the folds. I hope it contains what Mr. Doe’s department is looking for; my department only retrieves things but we never know what. Probably microdots of documents or something.
“Nice lady you got there, Smith,” he says while hiding the coin into the heel compartment of his shoe. He will soon jump out as we pass a seldom used park – I won’t stop the car.
“Yes, yes she is . . . “
(Author’s note) Oct. 13, 2016. Atlanta, GA.
First off, this is a once year anniversary of this blog. Seventy-two stories plus some other longer than flash stories, so something near eighty stories exist here. My most recent post, this one, I think shows that I’ve done quite a bit of work in shaping stories, telling them in limited space and my editing is more in control than before. Here’s to larger projects and possibly some submissions to other publications and may they be accepted.
Second, This post is the definition of what this site of flash fiction is about. Under 400 words, all on hotel note paper, evoking feelings for characters who face a problem, underlying problems, and something that makes the reader think later on what they just read. I like the twist. I like the questions generated at the end. Subtleness. I think I accomplished that. Where do you think they are? Who do you think they work for? Tell me your thoughts and how it made you feel, please.