by Michael Seese
There's an interesting bit of back story behind this week's Flash! Friday entry. Monday night, as I was doing the dishes, I thought about the previous week's winning story, which I thought was very good. Out of nowhere came an idea. I had the basic lead-in, and "brain-wrote" the last 60 words or so. After finishing the chores, I typed them in. The next day, I completed it.
But...
As I was doing that, I was reminded of a story I wrote for the Janet Reid contest way back in November 2013. IT DIDN'T WIN, but I still liked it. Since the stories for Janet are 100 words, I had to expand it a bit. (Which I always can do.)
Then, yesterday Rebekah posted this photo.
And I posted "The Saving Breath."
Gas hissed from the valve under the
unmistakable sign: FLAMMABLE. Sydney struck another match, only to
watch it go out.
"Damn it! Why won't any of you
light?"
Alone, more alone than ever, she tried
again. And again. Luck still
would not even blow a kiss her way.
She fell back, crying. So much had gone
wrong lately, beginning with that night. She had ignored her parents
and the weather alert, and decided to drive to Cameron's. She always
drove carefully, more so in the snow. She remembered missing the
curve just in front of his house... The pond... Her car sinking...
Gasping for air... Cameron's arms around her... His heroic push...
Then watching him slip beneath the ice.
"I miss you, Cameron. I miss you
so much."
"I miss you too, Syd. But it's not
your time," he whispered, blowing out yet another match.
Fits pretty well, don't it?
And I was feeling inspired, so I added "Temptation."
Temptation does not call.
It sings. It whispers, coos, breathes
softly in your ear. Jeanne rocked on the ledge, her feet dangling
over eternity, struggling with the decision.
I'll catch you, the voice said.
I promise.
Jeanne had lived a life full of
promises, most of which rotted and died. Her ex-husband had promised
it would be a one-time job, that no one would get hurt. He was wrong
on both counts.
"I've done ... so many bad
things," she said.
Everyone sins. We accept that. We
forgive. We welcome.
"Then I'm ready," she said,
taking the literal leap of faith. Immediately, something felt wrong.
"What's happening?" Jeanne
cried out. "Where are you?"
A warm blast singed her face. The voice
returned. It no longer sang. It hissed like steam, and smelled of
sulphur.
I suppose I neglected to warn you.
To tell you how far you were going to fall. But I'll keep my word. I
will catch you.
Come back tomorrow. Janet Reid also served up a flash fiction contest, and (naturally) I wrote something for that.
