Flash Fiction!

Last night, while wondering what I could possibly blog about, I surfed through my Twitter timeline (Yes, I procrastinate via the internet.  Who doesn’t?) and remembered that #fantasychat happens every Sunday night at 8pm.  I came in on the tail end of the discussion, but there were some amazing topics and brilliant insights on blogging. (If you’re interested, next week’s topic is Branding – as in yourself as an author/product, not scorching hot metal on your skin – so check it out).  Anyway, one person mentioned they like to do a bit of flash fiction every now and then, just to try something different and get the creativity flowing.  I LOVED the idea, so I let them know I’m stealing it shamelessly.

Flash fiction is a fictional story of “extreme” brevity.  The word count varies depending on who you ask.  In fan fiction they call it “drabble.”  I'm a huge fan of drabble.  For the purposes of my flash fiction, I’m keeping it to about 300 words and it may or may not relate to current and future characters.  These two happen to be both.  So here goes ... and in the future I'm going to post it on a Friday, just so I can use a cool title like "Flash Fiction Fridays":

She kept pounding on the hotel room door, regardless of the fact that it was three in the morning.  If Sawyer was in there, then he could haul his ass out of bed.  He’d said, “if she ever needed him.” Well she needed him now.

He finally jerked open the door like he was ready to pulverize the person on the other side.  “What the- Oh, Kinsey. Hey.”  His scowl disappeared as he ran a hand through is unkempt hair, only making it worse.

She shouldered past him into the safety of his room.

“Uh … Come on in?”  That taunting voice she’d already grown used to, but when he locked the door and turned toward her, all his usual bravado fell away.  “What is it?  What's going on?  What happened?”

Her fear and anxiety must be unmistakable for him to take it seriously.  Sawyer steered her toward the two wingbacks by the window and, for the first time, she let him.

“I think he was at my house tonight.”  She didn’t have to specify who he was.

“Was he in your house?  Did you see him?  Are you okay?” Sawyer took her hands and flipped them over, checking the palms.

No she was not okay!  And what in the hell did her hands have to do with anything?

“I didn’t see him, but I'm sure he was there.”  So help her, if Sawyer laughed it off or called her paranoid, she was going to-

“I bet he was,” he said, releasing her hands with a gentle rub. “I figured he’d try something like hitting your place next.”

He believed her?  She wasn’t even sure she believed it was real.  Relief at her sanity began to flow, just before her anger slammed down on the tide.  “You figured?  Then why the hell did you let me go back?”