Tag Archives: flash fiction

Nobody Knows

soccer

Nobody knew she had a crush on her soccer coach. Not a soul.

Except her parents, who watched her get ready every evening with just a little more gusto than anything else she did in life. She would always very carefully figure out what outfit would look good without trying too hard, you know, since she was learning soccer.

But that was it.

Well, maybe the elderly couple who passed as they did their daily pre-Wheel of Fortune walk. They could tell because of how she laughed just a little too hard at his jokes.

But not another person knew.

Well, except for the guy who was a little too old to be enjoying playing with his remote control car about two baseball fields away. He knew because he could see her smile from there.

Nobody else though.

Except the two strangers who ran every evening at the same time in opposite directions, nodding each time they passed one another on the circular path, each hoping the other would break the runner’s code and stop the other to have a chat. They knew because of how she would twist her arms awkwardly with her hands clenched during each break for the coach’s instructions.

Seriously though, no one else knew.

Except that dad who was taking his daughter for a walk in a stroller. He could tell because of the way she couldn’t stay on both feet, and was kind of hopping back and forth.

Maybe one or two more people knew.

Like the dog walker who had a little chihuahua and a larger spaniel. She knew, because she remembered those days and could just tell.

And the person driving by, who saw she stood just a little closer than was usually comfortable in that situation.

And how do I know? Because I was one of those people. It doesn’t matter which. But we all knew.

Even the coach knew. He was older, wiser, and used to this. But he loved his wife more than he loved teaching kids soccer, the most popular sport in his home town across the sea.

As far as she knew, nobody knew she had a crush on her soccer coach. Not a soul.

Advertisements

Too Big of a Decision

IMG_1362

He followed them into the coffee shop but didn’t even like coffee. He just thought the girls were cute and was tired of weekends with no plans.

“What can I get you?”

It took him a moment to realize the barista was talking to him, so he froze. He hadn’t thought this through. It was all about the girls.

“Um…a cup of tea, please.” He didn’t exactly love tea, either.

“What kind?”

Shit, there were kinds? He was lost. The barista tapped his foot, then pointed to a list on the wall. Breakfast? Oolong? What the heck is oolong? What does that even mean? Ginger tea? What the hell?

“Uh…plain?” he replied.

“Size?”

“Medium?”

“We have 16 ounce and 24 ounce.”

Shit. “16 ounce, please.”

The man made the tea and handed it to him.

“Fresh lemon?”

The girls were gone.

Don’t Cry Over Spilled Liquor

I walked into the subway station and there she was, behind a pillar, crying hysterically. I mean tears running down her face, red eyes, and stumbling a little, which made me think she was drunk. Was she? Who knows.

Then I saw the broken pieces of glass shattered everywhere, with a pool of clear liquid surrounding them. The bottom of the bottle, still intact, rose from the liquidy shards like a miniature mountain. For once, the subway didn’t have that dank smell created from too many people shoved into an underground room.

Instead, it smelled of liquor. Purifying, clean liquor. It would have been a nice change if not for the tearful twenty-something sobbing without control.

I assumed she was drunk, hence the stumbling, but as I sat on the subway, I tried to put a better spin on it. Maybe the bottle was a gift for someone. Maybe it was an expensive gift, one she saved for, to impress a boyfriend, or girlfriend, or best friend or boss or lover or some other kind of person important to her life.

That kind of broke my heart, so instead I went back to my original thought. She was drunk, wanted to keep the party going, and would have to figure out another way to do so.

broken-bottle

Happy World Typewriter Day!

Yes, apparently it’s a day, and it’s today! Celebrated every year on the day the typewriter was patented, I figured I would repost some of my favorite typewriter projects from the past. Many are collected into a book published by WragsInk.

Asking Permission A Bad Monday City Girl Devotion Set in Stone il_570xN.190828500 My Fellow Survivors Out of State Love 1 Out of State Love 2 Damsel in Distress Broken Heart A Western-Style Ending Reading A Coney Island of the Mind library001 lonely man001 Empty001 soup001

Prom

 DSC00034356736Photograph by Haylie Maxine Photography

 

“Nice sunglasses,” Tory said to Oliver. “They’re so you.”
“I can recognize your sarcasm, Tor. We’ve only been dating for seven months now.”
“I’m so proud of you for finally becoming fluent…”
He took the sunglasses off and placed them gently on her mother’s coffee table. The mirror on the wall beckoned him to check that his tie was straight; this was after all prom night. His first prom. It was actually only the second time he wore a tie in his whole life. And while he would never admit it to Tory, his dad tied it for him.
“You look nice,” she said as she hugged him from behind and helped straighten the tie. “The suit is very you.”
“And the sunglasses?” He went to pick up the white framed glasses but she snatched them up from the table before he could.
“Too slow!” She threw them on her face with a giggle. “Look at me! I’m Ollie. I’m so cool!” The goofy grin on her face was bad enough, but then she started making peace symbols with her hands. “Guess who I am!”
“Shut up!” Ollie said as he pulled them off her face. “That’s not what I look like!” She smiled at him, the one he always called her winning smile she used when she could tell she’d gone too far, and then put out his arms. She nestled into them and put her head on his shoulder.
“Okay,” he said with a grin. “Let’s go to prom.”

Photograph by the talented Haylie Maxine Photography. For more information/images check out her Flickr or like her on Facebook.

Driving Down

On a daily basis, Richard got behind the wheel of his car to go to the office, and also daily, he would reflect on his life and the wrong turns he made. She was gone. Long gone. But he still didn’t feel any better.

As he went through green lights turned yellow about to turn red, he wondered the chances of a truck running it and ending it all for him. He had not the guts to do it himself, so he hoped for a Mack Truck to finish him off. Richard lacked the patience for improvement in his happiness; little did he know it was just around the corner.

Years later, once his life was together and he had a wife, two children and a happiness he never knew existed, his wish would come true.

Search for the Doctor

DSCN0397

They walked and walked and walked; his feet were killing him, but he didn’t dare say a word since this trek across London was his idea. But she loved him and didn’t complain at all. They couldn’t find the store he was hoping to find, a huge comic shop that promised him all the Doctor Who stuff that his home in the U.S. failed to provide. She hadn’t even seen an episode, but joined him with a willingness that had to be love.

The store wasn’t where his map promised. They’d walked the block three times. “I’m not sure it’s here anymore, hun,” she said to him with a genuine look of discouragement. She knew how much he hoped to buy some stuff from the show. A few toys, a graphic novel or two, some DVDs, anything, really. The show had been his favorite for years and he expected London to be plastered with images from the show. His disappointment would completely dissipate if only they could find this store.

“We should have followed that person with the bag from the store,” she said.DSCN0392

“How would that have worked? They obviously were coming from it!” The person’s bag only teased him, taunted him, since it meant they were so close.

“But we could have asked them where it was.” She was right, of course. He hadn’t the nerve to ask the stranger for the location. And the possibility was slipping away from him  the later it got; they had tickets to a show that started in just a few hours, and they needed to get to their hotel all the way on the other side of the city, shower, and then get to the show. Frustration mounted as he looked left, right, even up in the insane hope of finding the store.

A pimply teenager walked by in a Green Lantern shirt.

“I have an idea,” he said to her. He followed the teen, and she wondered what his plan was. It didn’t click at first, but at a red light she realized what he was doing.

“Are we following this guy just because his shirt is a superhero shirt?” she whispered.

“Nooo…” he said as he nodded yes.

She laughed at this idea, but shrugged at the possibility that it just may work. The kid crossed the street, made a left and then turned right and there it was. The store.

“YES!” they both said, him out of excitement and her out of sheer happiness that the quest was over. He entered, followed sign after sign and then saw it loom from floor to ceiling. Everything Doctor Who.

“I’ll be in the graphic novel section for the next hour,” she said as she turned to leave him, both smiling.