Flash Fiction

Flash fiction has always been a challenge for me. Telling a story, a good story in only a few thousand words is tricky. Limiting the words to less than one thousand seems impossible.

Because I love pushing my brain to its limit, I decided to enter NYC Midnight's Flash Fiction contest. You have 48 hours to write a short story of one thousand words or less. They also throw in a twist, as if that wasn't challenge enough. They give you a genre, a setting, and an object that all have to be included in the story.

I got rom-com, which I wasn't too thrilled about, a private island, and a walking cane. The thing is, I misread the prompts and wrote about an island paradise instead. I didn't realize the mistake until after I had submitted my story. I resigned myself to a low score for failing to follow the rules, and did my best to forget about the contest.

The email came today to announce the results. I checked my group. I got second place. Second, even with twisting the prompt about like I did.

Round two starts at midnight tonight and runs through Sunday. I'm ready to be a jittery wreck until submission. Apparently, I'm better at this flash fiction stuff than I thought. Here's the story I submitted. Hope you like it!

A Change is Gonna Come

The Waikiki Community Center smelled faintly of stale sweat and the fake lemon scent of bargain cleaning products. Gloria almost walked back to her rental car. She felt ridiculous. She was too old to be prancing about at a singles dance. She should never have let the concierge talk her into coming here. The thought of returning to her empty hotel room renewed her resolve to enter the dance hall.

She found a table in a dimly lit corner and eased herself into a metal folding chair. She didn’t dare gaze around the room out of fear that she would catch someone’s eye, or even worse, draw them over to her table.

She closed her eyes and tried to let the sound of Otis Redding’s voice calm her frayed nerves.

It's been too hard living, oh my,

and I'm afraid to die.

Not exactly the most soothing lyrics.

“Did it hurt?”

Gloria was startled out of her near-doze. “Sorry. What?”

“When you fell from heaven, did it hurt?”

Gloria laughed, her chuckle degenerating into a raspy wheeze.  It took her a minute to regain her breath. She studied the stranger’s face while her breathing grew steadier. Deep crow’s feet showed that he smiled often. His lips were actually spread in a toothy grin now.

“Good heavens! That line is older than I am!”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little rusty. It’s been awhile since I tried to impress a beautiful woman. It doesn’t make you any less of an angel.”

“I’m afraid flattery will get you everywhere.” She extended a liver-spotted hand. “I’m Gloria.”

The man gently caressed her arthritic knuckles before he planted a leathery kiss against the back of her offered hand. He was at least ten years her junior. His fingers were long and delicate, a sharp contrast to her misshapen digits. Her fingers were so crooked she could no longer wear her rings.

“Harold,” he said. “And I am ever so glad to make your acquaintance.”

Gloria waved a dismissive hand at him. “We both know I’m no spring chicken,” she smiled. “But I appreciate the attention all the same.” She felt color rising in her cheeks and hoped the dim light masked her embarrassment. Cheesy as his lines were, his attention had her flustered.

“Would it be alright if I joined you?”

Gloria surprised herself by pushing the chair beside her away from the table toward Harold. “Please do.” After five years of dinners for one, it was nice to have someone to talk to. She had forgotten how flattery warms your cheeks and compliments can set your pulse racing. She suddenly found it difficult to stop smiling at Harold.

As Harold sat, he tucked a cane beneath the seat. Gloria hadn’t noticed it at first, too distracted by Harold’s smile. Now that she looked closely at it, she could see there was an eagle, mid-flight, perched at the end of the cane.  The detail of the wings was so intricate that she wouldn’t be surprised if the wooden bird took to the air.

“That’s lovely,” Gloria said, pointing to the cane. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift from my wife--my late wife.” Harold’s smile faltered. Gloria reached across the table to take his hand.

“I’m so sorry. How long ago did you lose her?”

“Almost a year.  It’s still hard to believe she’s gone.” Harold tried to withdraw his hand, and Gloria gave it a gentle squeeze before letting him pull away.

“What was her name?”

“Bethany. She always wanted to come here, but we never made it.  After I lost her, I said ‘Harold, you’re going to get your shit together and go to Oahu.’ So, here I am.”  He spread his arms wide, the brilliant smile returning, though it was duller around the edges. “So, what brings you to paradise, Gloria?”

“A promise I made to my George. When he got sick, he made me swear that I would come here.  We were supposed to come the year he got the cancer.  We cancelled our plans so he could start chemo.  He wanted to make sure I came, even if he couldn’t. Maybe especially because he couldn’t.  So, here I am.” She raised her own arms and returned Harold’s smile.

“It must be fate.” Harold’s crow’s feet deepened as his smile perked up at the corners.

“Maybe so,” she conceded, suddenly feeling very much like she did at sixteen when George asked her to her first Spring Fling. She had paced her room for two hours and tried on at least ten dresses before he came to pick her up. His eyes never left her as she descended the stairs to the front door. She had blushed then too, knowing from the intensity of his gaze that the blue dress had been the right choice. They danced to every song, and she had never been so happy to have sore feet. She hadn’t danced since before George got sick. Even then, she was barely nimble enough to rock side to side in his arms as he led her around the kitchen.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to dance?” Harold asked. He pushed himself to his feet with the assistance of the table edge and reached a hand toward her invitingly.

Gloria pushed herself to her feet with the assistance of her own cane, unadorned white aluminum. She stared at it for a moment before she tucked it into the empty chair beside her.

“I would love to,” she said, and Harold led her out onto the dance floor where Otis Redding’s voice followed them around the room.

It's been a long long time coming,

But I know, but I know a change is gotta come.

Oh, yes it is.