fiction

Flash Fiction for Carrot Ranch

I’m trying to leave my novel alone for a few weeks so I can read it with “fresh” eyes and polish it. Again. This polishing will be the fourth draft on I Trespass. Since I’m not actively writing my novel, my schedule is different. Like: Who moved my cheese? Normally I pick up a thread where I left off the previous day, but in these waiting weeks I face a totally empty page each morning. Some days I even get writer’s block. For me that doesn’t mean the page stays empty; it’s just filled with pointless junk. Enter prompts. Oh, how I love thee, writing prompts! Today I found one here. It’s rules require me to slash my flash in half: 99 words to write a story involving riptides. (and prompted a bit of obnoxious rhyme)

Riptides: The idea of being pulled (or ripped) away from safety. Of losing control. Being abducted by water. The ocean has always filled me with a mixture of fear and wonder. You can’t stand next to that pounding, teeming, gargantuan force and think yourself important.

I finished my first attempt at 8:16AM with 145 words. Yikes. Time for the chain saw. Second draft: 117 words, 8:30AM. Third draft: 95 words, 8:37. You’d think I’d leave it alone. But no, I have four more words I can add back in. It’s on. Final, 8:49AM. 99 words, exactly. Bam. I hear Rocky music in my head. Ladies and gentleman, my story follows.

The Ultimate Guide to Simplifying Life

Harper walked the beach. Her psychiatrist mandated daily exercise, and Harper’s mom considered it an encouraging sign. The shell basket always returned full of treasures. Mom didn’t notice the basket left with treasure as well: the contents of Harper’s bedroom. Her baby blanket, beloved stuffed animals, crayon drawings, trophies. Then medals, books, make-up. Finally, Harper tossed the contents of her dresser into the sea and reverently watched the riptide spirit her belongings away. The sea had just about everything. The next day Harper closed the door on her hollow room and went out.

“No basket today?” her mom asked.

 

 

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “Flash Fiction for Carrot Ranch”

  1. “Chills” is hardly the word.
    While I was depressed I promised myself that I would not commit suicide. The promise wasn’t for me but rather my wife, children and siblings.
    Suicide is active, letting a car hit me, or being swept out to sea, is passive. It’s not suicide if I don’t act to stop something but it is if I act.
    Living near the ocean I thought frequeantly of just swimming until I could swim no more. Obviously I did no such thing and my depression is now at bay,
    Very emotion evoking 99 words.

    1. I don’t know what my preoccupation with suicide is about. When Robin Williams killed himself, it rocked me. He was too funny, too warm a person to do that… thus went my thinking. I wrote a fictional letter from Robin Williams to his daughter, trying to see it from his perspective because I too see suicide as a final flip off to those we leave behind, unintentional though it may be. I understand depression is its own monster, and I’m glad you are taming it. I appreciate your distinction between passive suicide and purposeful suicide.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.