Shorter Than Short

Picking up this month’s issue of O magazine was like going mining for diamonds and later discovering you unwittingly brought home rubies, emeralds and sapphires too. The theme of this issue, printed in blood red along the spine, is Summer Reading Issue. The gems within include Love At First Sentence (a roundup of irresistible openings), What You’re Really Going To Want To Read This Summer (32 tantalizing books for the beach), How To Read A Hard Book, Flash Fiction, How To Tell A Story and The Reader As Artist (written by the great Toni Morrison). I’m only halfway through the magazine and can already feel my resolve to not buy another book this month steadily cracking. But what really grabbed me among the articles above was Flash Fiction.

O challenged eight writers to tell a story in less than 300 words or less. Something like, as O put it, a novel crossed with a haiku. The result was eight stunning pieces. Like exquisite hor’dourves.

Since reading Proulx’s masterpiece of Brokeback Mountain earlier this year (yes, I’m a late bloomer!) I’ve been fascinated by the art of short story writing. Getting my first piece rejected by the editor of Silverfish New Writing 6, made me even more intrigued about this cili padi of the literary world. So I gobbled up all these eight little pieces. All were delicious, but one left an aftertaste that lingered for a long time. Here it is.

Near Taurus
By Dawn Raffel

After the rains had come and gone, we went down by the reservoir. No on was watching, or so it looked to us.
The night was like to drown us.
Our voices were high – his, mine; soft, bright – and this was not the all of it (when is it ever?).
Damp palms, unauthorized, young: We would never be caught, let alone apprehended, one by the other.
He was misunderstood; that’s what the boy told me.
“Orion, over there. Only the best. The body won’t show until later,” he said. “Arms and such.”
Me, I could not find the best, not to save my life, I said.
Flattened with want: “There is always another time,” he said.
He died, that boy. Light-years! Ages and ages. And here I am: a mother, a witness, a raiser of a boy.
I could tell you his name.
I could and would not.
“Here’s where the world begins,” he’d said. I se him now – unbroken still; our naked eyes searching for legends – the dirt beneath us parched.

Now, I didn’t share this with you solely out of goodwill. ☺ If you’re reading this post, I challenge you to write a piece of flash fiction – 300 words max –and post it on your own blog. If you don’t have your own blog, you’re most welcome to email your story to me at stephsm_78@yahoo.com and I’ll post it up for you here. I’ll post my own piece up by the end of this week. On your marks, get set, WRITE!

P/S: Do drop me a note when your story is up. I’d love to read it!