In my writing group we had an exercise where we practiced writing flash fiction, trying to write a story in a paragraph. This is what came out. [This is all fiction. It might be a little odd. Consider yourself warned.]
The sun set that day on the other side of the house. It was a time when I was not aware that the earth moved in ways that it wanted. I didn’t know that I was not supposed to see the empty sky when the sun dropped out. But then when it fell that day, I was surprised that it went to hide in a new home. I hope it doesn’t find me again.
He asked me what my favorite color was. I said blue because it was an easy answer. How could I tell him the truth? It would be too much for him to hear, that my favorite color is the ocean after I have calmed the storm.
Quiet becomes you. You scream too much. I can’t stand it when you scream and you scream all the time. But now you don’t. I made sure of it.
That is a fine hat. Really, it is beyond fine. When you set it at that jaunty angle I can see that you get such strength out of it. Perhaps you will allow me to set it back after I shoot it off. It makes such a fine target.
I feel like a different woman with you. You understand my silences. You hold me in your embrace. I feel warm. But soon, you can stop licking my face. And that tail wagging is getting a little rambunctious.
This space enables the macabre. I can’t explain it but at this point in the day after I have kept going and going and going it seems like the best way for me to blow off steam. I send chills down my back with what I write. Don’t take it the wrong way when I kill my characters, it doesn’t seem to hurt them. They are only wisps of fiction blowing through my mind. Their voices continue from the grave I have put them in, and they still sing.