I know. I know. Somehow between the holidays, the flu I was gifted for Christmas, the new year, and life in general, I have continued to be a horrible writing slacker. But Writer's Digest has kindly reminded me that flash fiction exists and issued a challenge to practice this form every day this month. I won’t post every day. I don’t want to make your expectations too high, but I will post. Hopefully, on Fridays. Enjoy.
Day 1: Last Garden
So green. So lush. I could happily become lost here. And I have. The subtle scents of different flowers combine into a perfume so intoxicating that it lulls me into letting go of my fears and worries. Yet something still tickles at the back of my mind.
“Edgar,” I call out, remembering I did not enter this haven alone.
I turn a corner amongst the maze of greenery and see him. With his back to me, I might mistake him for a younger man if it weren’t for the slope of his shoulders. I walk toward him, reaching out my hand as I approach to place it gently on one slumped shoulder as I step beside him to see what he sees.
Soft mounds covered in tiny flowers mar the otherwise flat paths and beds of this serene place.
“So peaceful,” he whispers.
“A nap then?” I ask.
He nods and takes my hand as we lower our aged knees down to the earth and then snuggle together, breathing in the aroma of peace. As my eyes softly close, I realize no other noise breaks the peace but our soft breathing.
Day 2: Retirement Troupe
Padding gracefully over to inspect the elegant silk curtains in soft sky blue silk, the woman pulls them closer together. As she grips them midway with hands still strong and calloused, the long toes of one foot curl around fabric closer to the floor. A woman in dark blue scrubs approaches swiftly. She gently places a hand on the older woman’s shoulder before she can take leave of the ground.
“We don’t do that anymore.”
“You never did,” sad, dark eyes survey the woman before her, “But if you tried, you’d understand.”
A nervous laugh escapes the younger woman, “We will never know. Come back to your friends.”
She places gentle hands on the other’s wrist and elbow and guides her back to a sturdy rounded table.
“Aw, let Gracie have some fun,” one of the men protests as nimble fingers fan out a deck of cards before him.
“She had her fun,” a woman with carefully coiffed grey curls mutters, trying to straighten her stooped back as she eyes the other woman with acidic eyes.
Gracie grins as she pulls her arm free and dances to the empty chair on the other side of the dealer, “and I plan to have more. Deal me in, Sam.”
The orderly shakes her head, letting her eyes rove once more over the troupe of troublemakers before heading back to her perch behind the counter.
Day 3: Caught
One moment frozen in time. Had I been there, I would know what came before and after. But I only enter the moment through this faded snapshot, so my imagination chooses the story.
The young man with dark hair and pale eyes, holds the dog close to his chest like a dearest friend. Tears stream down his cheeks. The dog’s tongue hangs in midair. Is he offering a kiss? Or licking away salty sadness?
My mind decides. The frozen figures begin to move. The dog leans in to lick the man’s cheek. The man responds by weeping unabashedly.
“I miss her so much.”
The dog whimpers before resuming his gentle kisses. The man falls into silence except for his sobs. They remain like this for some time before the man wrinkles his nose and pulls away from his furry comforter.
“You don’t have a home do you, buddy?”
The dog barks agreement.
“So Elle sent you to me?”
No verbal response follows this. Instead, dark brown eyes peer into lighter ones, conveying deeper meaning than begging for a treat. At last, the connection breaks as the man stands up. His new friend wags his tail but remains seated. The man turns toward him.
“Want to come home with me?”
The dog rises, panting happily as he falls into step with his new master.
The man’s hand falls to the dog’s head, “I hope you like the name Elliott,” adding, “and baths,” as he scratches gently behind mud-caked ears
Day 4: Sadness
Why do you do this to yourself?” He thrusts a tissue into her hands.
She shrugs. After dabbing at her eyes, she noisily blows her nose. Gripping the soiled paper tightly in her fist, she turns her eyes back to the television.
He sighs and reaches for the remote, “you have work soon…”
She grabs the remote from his hand and responds with her voice cracking, “I need to know what is going on in the world.”
“But you’re in no condition to drive as it is…” He huffs exasperation.
“I’ll be fine before I have to leave.”
He looks down at her skeptically before glancing back at the television, “I don’t think you will be.”
The plaintive tune of a familiar song fills the air. Her eyes remain riveted to the screen as images appear. He hands her a box of tissues.
“We’re carpooling,” he declares, “this commercial makes you weep more than the news.”
