This is a flash fiction story that I wrote for Dude Write and their contest Flashier Than You. This is my first foray into flash fiction. I really don’t do much fiction writing at all, unless you count the bestiality story for Gadget.
Anyhow, this is the story. Hopefully I will get better at writing these things with practice.
If you told me two weeks ago that I’d be lying here, staring at the stars on this cool March night, I’d have said you were loopy. Our yard is nothing but a slushy mess this time of year, and it’s supposed to go down to -9C tonight, or so the weatherman says.
Man, that was some dance.
I have never been so taken with a girl, ever. She is the definition of grace, with just enough fun and self loathing to make her like me for who I am. I didn’t have to pretend with her, like I do with other girls, which was refreshing. I don’t know why we always have to put on a different face when we meet new people, but after tonight I’m not doing that again.
She was so pretty. I’m sorry, but I can’t quit thinking of how her smile brightened her eyes, which gave her an ethereal glow. Kind of like when you go by someone’s house late at night and you can see that they have the TV on. There is just a glow around, and in front of it, but the rest of the room is dark and shadowy. It’s not that I’m looking in windows all the time, but sometimes you just notice things when you are walking at night.
Tonight when I was walking home, I felt completely happy. All of my loneliness was gone and I was smiling the whole way. Even when I got here and realized that I didn’t have my house key. It’s amazing how talking to a really sweet girl for a couple of hours can take you from cutting yourself and wishing you would just die, to not being able to wait to get a haircut, find a job, and ask her out on a date.
I find it hard to believe I had ever had those thoughts before. What could have been so bad? My parents were good people. They never beat me or treated me unkind. I just don’t understand how I could have ever thought about suicide or even the cutting.
Cutting is so stupid. It had almost become a habit instead of a necessity. I thought I was just supposed to do it. She didn’t care though. She saw the scars. Touched the scars. She looked sad that I was hurting. I never want to make her feel sad again. Ever.
I probably will though. The ice is starting to crust around me, and I think my back is broken. All I can seem to do is blink… and think. Think about her.
I’ve climbed through this window a hundred times before, but I guess I won’t be climbing through it again.