“The Legend of Dewer’s Hollow” ~ Flash Fiction

John had been working at the inn for white some time now. After 37 years of working, he had yet seen any ghost from the Legend of Dewer’s Hollow. Apparently, no living person had ever seen the ghost. But he was determined to be the first. One night, he woke up at 3:24. It was quite unusual for John to have trouble sleeping, and he rarely woke in the middle of the night. However, this time, he was sweating, his heart racing, and he felt like he was being choked. His vision went black, and he passed out.

The next time he awoke he was much more calm, no sweat, no heartbeat; in fact, it was almost too silent for his comfort. And as he scanned the room, in the corner, there she was. The woman from the Legend of Dewer’s Hollow. Her eyes were milky white, like beaded pearls that lost their shine. Her tattered long dress matched her eyes and her glowing skin, gliding on top of the floorboards as she made her way across the room. John wasn’t scared, but relieved. He had finally been the first person to see her.

But as the legend goes, no living person has ever seen the ghost if Dewer’s Hollow.

“High Hopes” ~ Flash Fiction

August 3, 2002
“Your cholesterol is too high. If you keep eating bacon and Mt. Dew, your heart might not be able to handle another attack.”
“I’ll just cut back a little” the patient assured.
“No.” said the doctor, “Your condition has escalated since your last consultation. You need to cut cold turkey.”
“Doc. I guarantee I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“I can’t force you to stop. But I can ensure your imminent death if you don’t.” insisted the doctor.
“Alright, I’ll be good,” the patient shrugged off as he walked away.

August 8, 2002
“Good morning San Antonio. Carla Simms here with your top stories of the day. In local news, a dead man’s family attempts to sue a doctor for not taking the necessary precaution on an account of high cholesterol.”

“Chronomentrophobia” ~ Flash Fiction

Tick-tock-tick-tock. 7:00 Beep! Beep! Beep! His eyes burst with life as he jolted up. His heart raced, pumping blood that rushed to the pain. His ears throbbed as though knives were just thrust into them. Over and over, the blood pumped to his ears, matching the rhythmic beat of the alarms. He quickly scrambled to his bedside table to stop that dreadful sound; but the closer he got, the further he wanted to be. He just wanted to stop it, he had to, he needed to. But right as he reached the ringing alarm, he got too close. He sprang back against the wall and retreated into a fetal position. Days passed until a week went by, but he had not gained the strength to move an inch, besides the gradual rise and fall of his chest. And then it was all over. The pain was gone. And the alarm was mixed with the sound of the gunshot.

“Painted Red” ~ Flash Fiction

The lights scanned the room, highlighting a freshly painted message. “We all die in the end.” Continuing through the building, the lights searched until one flashed upon his back and the disheveled man appeared, sitting next to a small limb body. Surrounded in a pool of thick red liquid, a grin of smugness glazed his face.
“Put your hands on your head, stand up, and turn around slowly!” shouted the blockaded police force. Guns warm in the palms of the officers, unlocked, with a hungry bullet waiting to eat flesh.
The man did as they asked, stood up with his hands on his head, turing slowly. It was not the thick red blood, dripping from his cold icy fingers that was the most menacing, but rather the grin he kept plastered on his face.
“Why did you do it?” the chief commanded.
And the man replied, “Because I needed paint”.

Flash Fiction

In the flash fiction story “Gasping in the Wind”, I was left with the last night digging itself into my brain. The story was understandable; a girl was out late, lost track of time, and was summoned by her angry mother. It seems so incredibly normal, nothing really special to the story. But then, the last line came and punched me in the stomach. That is good writing, because now there is another meaning to the girls pain.

“Acceptable Condition” was a big unclear and left to interpretation. I was not sure which way the author meant for the last sentence to go. At first I thought it was put there to show how ungrateful people can be, because at least he could read when there are hundreds of children in the world who can’t. But then, after a bit more pondering, my final take on it was that it was the librarian who could not read. He desperately wants to, but he doesn’t know how; like a prisoner trapped to the library. Although there are a few flaws to this theory, it is the best I could think of. I love that the ending was broad though, because then the reader can determine what the story means to them.

“Before the Locksmith” was creative because the author was able to describe an incident without coming out and saying it. This is where there is a slight form of poetry that emerges. The description the author uses clearly indicates the woman was upset at her husband because of something he did wrong, an affair I presume. The only part that left me hanging was the flowers in the last paragraph.

The flash fiction stories are a lot shorter than I expected them to be. It is a lot easier for me to understand because most of the writing is straightforward. I like flash fiction because, not only is it short, but also because it combines short stories and poetry into one. It’s like reading a short story, but there are also twisted elements and symbols that give it a hidden meaning. Of course, that’s not always the case but at least flash fiction gives the writer that freedom.

I can already tell I will not be adapt to writing good flash fiction because I have a horrible disadvantage of over-explaining details. It is impossible for me to be short and concise with my descriptions, which will be a weakness that I must overcome. Also, many of the flash fiction is very symbolic and twisted, which is why I believe I will not be successful at writing such literature. I like how short it is, though, because it gets to the point without dragging the content continuously.