Now You See Me

One thing that I've been pretty anxious to do around here is to actually talk about writing. In my last post, I breached the idea of sharing more of myself and letting the blog be more personal. And as a writer, the most significant way to do this is through your writing. So here's a treat: I'm actually going to post a complete work of original fiction, for you, in this entry.

The story is in a pretty convenient form known as "Flash Fiction." Usually between 250 and 1000 words, flash fiction is a difficult form to pin down exactly. It's easy to think of it as a writing tool more than an actual form because it's so short and has so little critical attention. Structurally, it tends to work a lot differently from longer fiction as well, which adds to the difficulty of writing it.

The form has only gotten any critical attention recently, and falls withing a pretty specific niche market. I think I'll elaborate on all of these ideas in my next entry. For now I'm just pretty anxious to let you see mine. And to let it hopefully speak for itself for a few days.

And just to be absolutely clear, this is specific story that I have written that I do not intend on trying to publish. I'm proud of it, but if I had any reason to protect it for my future, I wouldn't be so casual about putting it on the net for free. This particular story was written and revised as a class assignment, and is no more than 500 words.

So without further ado:


About as Long as the Length of an Arm


Her mother could see that Sam was awake, even though it was one in the morning on a school night. She could see her daughter yawning on the couch, elbow bent so that her arm was propped up as if reaching for the window behind. She would sleep on the couch all night, like she always did when she wanted to hurt her mother. She was impossible to deal with sometimes. Silly highlighted strips of hair draped across her face and would make her nose itch all night, but she fell asleep without moving them. Her shoulders would be cold in the tank top.

Her mother turned from the room and looked around the kitchen. It had been this way since the evening, not dirty but unkept. A bowl of pasta swimming in red sauce had gotten cold on the table, noodles wrapped around a salad fork hanging off the edge. A faint sweet smell was coming from a glass of milk that had also been left out. One of the chairs was pulled away at a sharp angle and a piece of paper had fallen to the floor not far away. She rubbed her eyes, walked tiredly to the table, and looked at the mess. She put her hand out, rested it on the fork, sighed, and then cleared the dishes.

“You have to pick up after yourself better than this,” she whispered. “How will you ever make it on your own this way?”

She sat in the chair to pick up the paper and held it in her lap without looking at it. It had taken a long time to write the resume because Sam had no experience and few accomplishments to work with. There was an entire section titled miscellaneous that listed values like teamwork and cited grade school softball games as evidence. Take it from you mother, she had said, even if they don’t ask for one, you’ll look better if you give them one of these when you apply. It was supposed to make things easier. It ended up being a catalyst instead. She stood up, adjusted the chair to its proper place, placed the paper neatly back on the table.

The other room was cold, and the closer she got to Sam the more her eyes were drawn to her daughter’s bare shoulders. She glanced out the window and remembered the mist that had fallen all day. Tomorrow would be clear. She hoped. She looked back at Sam and lightly gripped the blanket draped across the girl’s chest.

Sam’s mother sighed again, pulled her hand away, almost bent down with a kiss, and decided to go to bed instead. Sam’s shoulders would be cold tonight. Her arm was still resting upright, as though looking out the window while her eyes were closed for sleep, and she snored lightly.

I hope you enjoyed that.