Marcia's Flash Fiction students wrote these stories for their assignments. She selected them to be featured on our blog. Thank you, writers, for allowing us to publish these.
INVISIBLE GIRL (127 Words) by Kate Richmond
Courage steps up. Arms and legs move. The body numb. Mind frozen. One thought, Get on the bus. Eyes avert the football team.
My cheerleader uniform suddenly hot, itching. Too short. Cold sweaty palms and clenched fists. Breathe. He’s not on the bus yet.
An empty seat midway. A window! Safety of outside within sight. Sky, buildings, gardens. I make myself name each passing thing. Shallow breathing. Remember to count breaths. Thoughts of quitting.
Our eyes lock as Ed ascends the bus. Looming tall. Head brushing the roof. Hands on every seat as he monkeys his way towards me. He stops, points, announces, “Don’t anybody sit with this scag!”
All eyes watch the shrinking invisible girl. Frozen numb brain. Sky grass, trees, house…….
Meeting for the First Time (369 Words) by Andrea Kidd
His mother’s hand enveloped his and he ran to keep up as he lagged behind her tall frame, their arms extended like a dog’s lead. His other hand enveloped his teddy’s paw. The bear dragged on the tiled floor of Paddington Railway Station.
He swiveled to glance behind. His mother tugged. Trouser legs, coats, umbrellas, and brief cases swooshed past him brushing against his body.
When his mother paused to find her direction, Toby took the opportunity to turn and stare.
“Over there,” his mother pointed, “Platform sixteen.”
On they went, dodging between rivers of bodies taking pre-determined pathways. Somehow, he managed a quick look behind.
Sitting in the railway carriage, the scratchy seat fabric pricking his bare legs, he tried again.
“Mum! Where are we going?”
“We’re going home!”
“But…”
“It won’t be long now. Just four more stops and we’ll be home.”
Toby wondered what “home” was. When returning to the farm after a shopping trip, Mum would say, “We’re going home now.” Toby knew what home was. It meant Nanny rolling out pastry, Grandad listening to the radio by the fire, and Uncle Henry taking off his boots at the door. And he would romp with Slick, the Sheepdog, before lining up his cars on the rug.
The whistle blew as the train rattled through a station. Toby stole a glance at the person next to him and hustled under his mother’s arm, burying his head in her lap.
Toby peered up into his mother’s face and tugged her sleeve. She gazed into his face and he dared to whisper the question that had been haunting him.
“Mum, why does that man keep following us?”
“That’s your father, Toby. Say ‘hello’ to your dad, there’s a good boy.”
Toby stared at the man, topped in a brown trilby hat, who leaned over to look into Toby’s eyes.
“Hello, young man!” His voice boomed, lips parted in a wide smile revealing two rows of strong, white teeth. “I’m your dad. How do you do?” He thrust his massive hand expectantly towards Toby’s chest.
Toby scooted onto his mother’s knee, curled into a ball and hid his face.
To read more of Andrea's work, read her articles in the High Country News.
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