Flash! Friday The Boy With The Hazel Eyes + Undercurrents

by Michael Seese

Once again, I gave Flash! Friday something old, something new. This week, we had to include a beach, and this photo:

So first came "The Boy With The Hazel Eyes."

Agata never forgot the boy with the hazel eyes. He introduced himself with a cannonball that splashed water in her face. She knew then it would some day be love. That summer at her family's cottage on Lake Scharmützel was the true beginning of her life.

Saying goodbye tasted like poison.

He wrote every week. When he'd send a photograph, she soared. But once Hitler's serpent tongue stated seducing the country, his letters became less frequent. Too soon, they stopped altogether.

Then the monsters with machine guns came to their door. Their new home embraced them with a ring of razor wire.

Still, she never forgot the boy with the hazel eyes. Memories of the splash of water, the hidden kisses, were all that kept her alive. Agata held out hope she would see him again.

Two weeks after her father died, Agata's prayer was answered. Immediately, she wished Fate had ignored her.

Gone were the crisp brown shirt and black shorts from the photos. In their place clung the uniform of death. He didn't see her, or he pretended not to. For this small favor, she was grateful.

When the war ended, she walked out the gates alone.

And she never could forget the boy with the hazel eyes.

Then I dusted off one I wrote for a Janet Reid contest last November, though I had to double it. (Like that's ever a problem for me.)

And here is "Undercurrents."

Most family traditions grow from joy. Some, though, are born of pain.

This beach will forever remain embedded in my very fabric. To this day, I can close my eyes, and relive it all. Building sandcastles with my brothers. Chasing seagulls. My father’s white nose. Sometimes, seeing dolphins dancing above the waves. And eating ice cream ALL DAY LONG!

So many good memories.

And one horrible memory, of hearing my mother’s screams when she looked out into the ocean and saw that Bill and Max were gone.

From that day, we lived beneath a cloud that never rained upon us, yet always threatened to.

Our family returned to the beach every year. We’d stay in the same hotel. And my mother would sit in the same spot, just staring at the blue emptiness. Though it was never said, I always believed my parents held out hope they would see them again.

Why don’t they? I wondered.

I did.

I tried to tell my parents. But they never believed me.

"Maybe when they’re in heaven," Max would say.

Even after my parents passed away, I would return to the beach. I’d sit there for hours, watching the waves. And I'd try to understand why my brothers no longer spoke to me.

Let me know what you think.

Indies Flash! Letting Go

by Michael Seese

First things first: my latest story for Janet Reid's flash fiction was named a finalist. It didn't take the prize, but I did think the winner was a pretty good tale.

And it's Monday, so it must be Indies Unlimited. Here is the photo of the week.

This was a funny one to write. The verbal cue talked about a "trans-harmonic camera." I decided to go with something like that. But it seemed as though my "brain-writing" efforts only generated about 100 words. But I sat down to type, and out came about 240. Voila! "Letting Go."

 

I hate these newfangled digital cameras. About the only good thing I can say about them is that when I take a picture of my thumb, I know it right away, which allows me to delete it and take another. Of my thumb, that is.

In fact, so pervasive was my photographic futility that it became a running joke around the house.

“How can you tell it’s winter?”

“Because Dad’s pictures show his glove, instead of his finger.”

For my entire life I’d had aspirations of being a great photographer. Unfortunately, now, I’m forced to admit that anyone associating my name with the name Adams would choose the creepy / kooky / mysterious / spooky television show family (not to mention upwards of a hundred others) before the great Ansel.

But hovering there on the periphery, seeing my family happy again, I wanted to capture the moment. Though try as I might, I could not get a clear picture. And for once in my... life, I needed to.

“Damn!” I muttered. “Why can’t I get this thing to focus?”

“Because you’re on a different plane,” came the answer from no one, from nowhere.

“But I need to. I want to remember them the way they are. I want to remember.”

“Of course you do. Everyone does. But it’s against the rules. You’re not supposed to remember them exactly. Your memory is supposed to fade. It’s how you let go.”

“But I don’t want to. I want… Who are those people?”

Kind of fun... yes / no?

Flash Fiction: "Undercurrents"

By Michael Seese

As I mentioned when I posted my most recent Flash! Friday, I needed to turn my attention to the latest Janet Reid contest.

Our mission was to use the words

long

beach

sand

bill

max

Originally, I wanted to try using them all as names. Long and Beach as surnames, then Bill, Max, and Sandy. (The Janet rules say you can "expand" words like that.)  But nothing was coming. 

With time running out, I pondered, pondered, pondered, and came up with "Undercurrents."

I have so many good memories of this place. Building sandcastles with my brothers. Chasing seagulls. My Dad’s white nose. Sometimes, seeing dolphins dancing above the waves. And eating ice cream ALL DAY LONG!

So many good memories.

And one horrible memory. Hearing my Mom’s screams when she looked out into the ocean and saw that Bill and Max were gone.

We come back to this beach every year. I think my parents hope they’ll see them again.

Why don’t they? I wonder.

I do.

I tell them. But they don’t believe me.

“Maybe when they’re in heaven,” Max says.

What do you think... a winner or no?

Now, on to Indies Unlimited....