Category: Flash Fiction

Noted

May 8
Note on the door of apartment #411 – back of a Krispy Kreme to-go bag

Red lace?
Mark

by Josie Hulme

April 20

Note on the door of apartment #409 – pink lined stationery with a daisy border

Welcome to the building, neighbor! I’m having a little get together with the rest of the 4th floor Friday night—nothing fancy, just sandwiches and stuff. We’d love to have you come! Apt #411, 6:00 pm.

Jill

 

April 23

Note on the door of apartment #409 – pink lined stationery with a daisy border

We missed you at our party tonight. (Mrs. Neville, #410, says you were probably on a date since you’re “hot.”) Anyway, I have some chicken salad and chips left over if you want to swing by tomorrow and grab them.

Jill

P.S. Mrs. Neville is 83!

 

May 1

Note on the door of apartment #409 – printer paper ripped in half

I’ve been knocking for ten minutes. I know you can hear me! 2AM is NOT an appropriate time to blare One Direction! Our bedrooms share a wall, you know. Whatever kind of crazy hours you keep, please keep them to yourself!

Jill

 

May 1

Note on the door of apartment #411 – back of a Starbucks receipt

I was not “blaring” my music.

Mark

P.S. It was NOT One Direction!

 

May 2

Note on the door of apartment #409 – notepad from Jacobs&Warner law firm

Were too.

Jill

 

May 2

Note on the door of apartment #411 – back of a Benito’s Bellisima Pizza flier

Was not. The walls are thin. I can hear YOU moving around your room at night. It keeps me up.

Mark

 

May 3

Note on the door of apartment #409 – back of a quote of the day calendar (quote on the front: “Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods.” Albert Einstein)

I never heard Mr. Tao when he lived there. And what do you mean, it keeps you up?

Jill

 

May 3

Note on the door of apartment #411 – notepad from Big Al’s Body Shop

Mr. Tao was probably tucked in bed by 5:00. (Mrs. Neville says he was old—and she’s ancient!) But that doesn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the show when you were getting ready for bed. Showering, blow drying your hair, opening and closing your dresser drawers. Wondering what you have in those drawers keeps me up at night.

Mark

 

May 7

Note on the door of apartment #411 – yellow post-it note

Too offended to write back?

Mark

P.S. Anything black and silky?

 

May 7

Note on the door of apartment #409 – back of a shopping list (on the front: bananas, yogurt, granola, almond milk, chicken breasts, salad, nuts, whole wheat bread)

I am NOT offended. I would have to care what you thought to be offended. Keep your mind out of the gutter and out of my drawers!

Jill

 

May 8

Note on the door of apartment #411 – back of a Krispy Kreme to-go bag

Red lace?

Mark

 

May 15

Note on the door of apartment #409 – back of a business card (front of card: Jill Hughes, Interior Designer, Details Inc)

You’ll never know. Mrs. Neville says you’re a cop. As a policeman, you should know the penalty for voyeurism.

Jill

 

May 16

Note on the door of apartment #411 – back of an American Express credit card offer envelope

How do you feel about dating a cop?

Mark

P.S. Peach with ruffles?

 

May 17

Mark’s May 16th note re-taped on the door of apartment #409 – back of an American Express credit card offer envelope

 

Is this a hypothetical question?

Jill

P.S. Peach with ruffles?     (eye roll) Puh-leeze

 

May 18

Mark’s May 16th note re-taped on the door of apartment #411 – back of an American Express credit card offer envelope

 

Only if the answer is no.

Mark

P.S. Peach with ruffles?     (eye roll) Puh-leeze

Give a guy a break! I’m dying here.

 

May 19

Mark’s May 16th note re-taped on the door of apartment #409 – back of an American Express credit card offer envelope

 

I’m open to the possibility.

Jill

P.S. Peach with ruffles?     (eye roll) Puh-leeze

Give a guy a break! I’m dying here.     White cotton granny panties.

 

May 20

Mark’s May 16th note re-taped on the door of apartment #411 – back of an American Express credit card offer envelope

 

Good. You like Italian?

Mark

P.S. Peach with ruffles?     (eye roll) Puh-leeze

Give a guy a break! I’m dying here.     White cotton granny panties.

I bet you look sexy as hell in those. My new fantasy.

 

May 20

Note on the door of apartment #409 – back of Gentle Hands Massage Parlor Deep Breathing and Relaxation instructions

You better not picture me in white cotton granny panties!

Jill

 

May 21

Note on the door of apartment #411 – corner ripped from an evidence receipt form

Too late.

Mark

P.S. Friday?

 

May 21

Note on the door of apartment #409 – Lazy Caterpillar green paint color sample

Friday sounds great! I love Italian.

Jill

 

May 24

Note on the door of apartment #411 – floral arrangement card, Looking Forward to Seeing You in script printed on the front, a small daisy taped to the card

Can’t wait till tonight. Mario’s. I’ll pick you up at 7:00.

Mark

 

May 24

Note on the corner table of Mario’s Italian Restaurant – napkin

Just got an emergency call. Sorry for running out while you’re in the lady’s. I already took care of the bill. Be safe on your way home. I’ll check in with you when I can. If you have any problems, my number is 555-4892.

Mark

 

May 24

Note on the door of apartment #409 – corner torn from Mario’s brown paper leftover bag

Home safe. I had a great time tonight. I’ve got an early meeting so I’m going to sleep. DO NOT KNOCK!

Jill

P.S. This is NOT one of those things that girls do to screw with your head. I DID have a nice time. I’m FINE that you had to leave. And I really DO have an early meeting. See you later.

 

May 25

Jill’s May 24th note re-taped on the door of apartment #411 – back side of corner torn from Mario’s brown paper leftover bag

I had a good time, too. Let’s do it again. I didn’t get to kiss you good night.

Mark

 

May 25

Note on the door of apartment #409 – graph paper (room dimensions and quick sketch on reverse side)

Are you free tonight?

Jill

 

May 25

Note on the door of apartment #411 – page ripped from a small notebook

Yes.

Mark

 

May 26

Note on the bedside table of apartment #411 – pink lined stationery with a daisy border

I was right the first time. Black and silky.

Mark

 

June 12

Note on the fridge in apartment #409 – notepad from Big Al’s Body Shop

Forgot to tell you last night – I’m headed home next weekend. Is it too soon to ask you if you want to meet my family?

Jill

P.S. If it is, pretend I never wrote this.

 

June 24

Note on the counter in apartment #411 – back of Nam-ASS-te – Yoga for Your Booty flier

I’m leaving you for your mom. Her porcini stuffed pork chops with a demi-glace were divine.

Mark

P.S. Turn about is fair play – my family is watching the 4th of July fireworks from a boat in the harbor, you game?

P.P.S. Warning: my mother is a terrible cook – steer clear of the chicken salad sandwiches.

P.P.P.S. Is this flier for real?

 

July 5

Note on the table in apartment #409 – in Sharpie on a flag-print paper plate

If you’re wondering where the sandwiches that used to be on this plate went, look in the garbage. How anyone can ruin chicken salad is beyond me. Your family is hilarious.

Jill

P.S. Still seeing fireworks.  

 

July 19

Note on the bathroom mirror in apartment #411 – red flower post-it note

Game night was great! Did you see the way Patricia and Dan were flirting? I’ll tell you what Dan says if you tell me what Patricia says…

Love, Mark

P.S. From now on, you are always on my team for Pictionary.

 

August 3

Note on the coffee pot of apartment #409 – back of Yu Wong’s Chinese Palace and Burritos takeout menu

Early meeting again. Didn’t want to wake you after your late night. Hope your case went well.

Love, Jill

P.S. You need more coffee. I’ll pick some up on my way home.

 

August 27

Note on the door of apartment #411 – page torn from Columbia Magazine

Missing you.

Love you, Mark

 

August 28

Note on the door of apartment #409 – back of Chicago to New York boarding pass

Missed you, too, so I came home a day early from my conference. Knock on my door when you get home.

Love you more, Jill

 

September 22

Note on the door of apartment #411 – on the back of The Pie flier advertising “The Big Apple” dessert pizza

Game night. Go Jets! You want to watch it together? I’ll bring beer, you bring pizza. (Hint: See front of flier)

Mark

P.S. Sorry about last time.

 

September 22

Note on the door of apartment #409 – clipped coupon for Orville Redenbacher’s Movie Theater Butter microwave popcorn

Only if you keep your snarky comments to yourself. Bring some popcorn too and you’ve got a deal.

Jill

P.S. You are forgiven, since my team is going to kick your team’s ass.

Go Giants!

 

October 20

Note trapped under a champagne flute on the linen-covered table of Bene – back of Jill’s April 20th note inviting Mark to her party, pink lined stationery with a daisy border

Happy six-month anniversary, darling! Everything I own, I give to you. Everything I am, I lay at your feet. Everything I hope to be, I trust to your hands. You are the color in my world, the joy in my life, and the promise in my future. Marry me?

Love you – forever and a day, Mark

 

December 3

Note on the door of apartment #410 – wedding announcement, personal note on the bottom of the card reads:

Please say you’ll come, Mrs. Neville! It wouldn’t be the same without you.

Love, Jill    and Mark

P.S. My Uncle Charlie asked if I was inviting any hot chicks to my wedding. I told him about you. He said to save him the first dance.

P.P.S Go easy on him.

Flash Fiction – The Cottage

“Oh, you wonderful children,” I murmur. I race back to the cottage and grab my axe, then I follow the trail of breadcrumbs into the forest.

Flash fiction is a fascinating form of writing. The rules are very simple: keep your story short. The length is usually stipulated by the contest–this contest was limited to 1,000 words (I’ve seen as low as 100 words).

If you’re thinking to yourself, “Wouldn’t it be easier to write a shorter story than a longer story?” you’d be wrong. All the elements of a longer story have to be included in a very short time: story arc, character development, conflict, resolution, character arc, suspense, emotion… the list goes on. You find yourself, as a writer, thinking: how can I say this phrase in just one word and have it convey the exact same thing? How can I show what this character is doing or feeling in one sentence instead of four? How can I evoke love, admiration, concern, hate, (insert emotion here) in my reader as my protagonist battles my antagonist in less than 1,000 words!

Here was my attempt to do just that. This was my first and (so far) only attempt at writing flash fiction, but I will definitely be doing more of it! It flexed my writing muscles in ways that no other writing has, and in today’s literature market, where concise is the first and only word in the dictionary, writing flash fiction well is a useful talent to have.

I hope you enjoy.

 

THE COTTAGE – by Josie Hulme

 

“You what?” My voice is very quiet. My wife knows this is a bad sign.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” she whines. “You’re never here. You never see them, anyway.”

“They are my children! Of course I’m going to notice when they’re missing!”

“It took you three days.” She says it under her breath, she knows she’s poking a bear.

I grind my teeth. “I’ve been in the forest cutting wood for three days.” I didn’t choose my second wife well. “Get out.”

She sees my face getting red. “I didn’t send them away with nothing,” she snivels. “I gave them our last piece of bread to share.”

“Get out!” I scream now, spit flying from my mouth. “Get out of my house! If I see you again, I swear to God I will chop you up and feed you to the wolves.”

She scrambles around the couch, grabbing up a lamp, a clock. “Fine! I’m tired of living in this hovel! I’m tired of your stupid children. And I’m tired of being groped every night by your rough, clumsy hands! You’re the worst lover I’ve ever had!”

She runs out the door, brown dress flapping around her legs, arms full of knickknacks. She’ll drop everything before before she gets out of the woods. I know how lazy she is.

I don’t even watch her go. I run to the tree house I made three years ago. Empty. I check the children’s regular haunts: the hollow tree, the swimming hole, the toadstool ring where they’ve spent many nights watching for fairies. All empty.

I spin in a circle. Thick forest all around. Where would they go?

I notice a line of ants, all carrying tiny specks of white. I follow the trail and find a bit of bread smashed in the dirt. A little farther, I find another piece nearly hidden by a fallen leaf.

“Oh, you wonderful children,” I murmur. I race back to the cottage and grab my axe, then I follow the trail of breadcrumbs into the forest.

The trees are close, and the underbrush thick. Game trails cross each other or join for a time before veering off through the bracken again. The bread crumbs are hard to find, and I have to backtrack several times. At each intersection, I kneel in the dirt to see the paths from the children’s perspective. If I were a child, which one would I take?

The crumbs get smaller and farther apart. The sun has set, and the forest is dark. The woods are no place to be alone at night, even for a man. I don’t allow myself to think about my children alone in the forest. A wolf howls, and an owl hoots its lonely song. I climb a large tree to wait out the dark.

From this vantage point, I see a light shimmering in the distance. I’ve walked these woods a thousand times. There should be no light.

I climb down and run, keeping my axe ready and my ears tuned to every rustle in the underbrush. It doesn’t take me long to reach a clearing where there never was a clearing. The sickle moon shines, its weak light picking out the details of a strange little cottage.

Lemon drop daisies and lollipop trees fill the clearing. Gumdrops line a brick path. Peppermint sticks frame the doors and windows. Candy discs form shingles, and icing drips a lacy curtain from the eaves. The spicy smell of gingerbread fills the air.

“What kind of magic is this?” I whisper. As I pick my way through the sugar-dusted flowers, a scream rends the silence. I know that scream. Echoes of that scream still wake me in the night when my dreams take me back to the day a rabid wolf attacked my daughter. Gretel! I fear something worse has her now.

I rush to the cottage. My axe cleaves the door in two. A large table set for dinner dominates the room. On the far wall is a large brick oven. Waves of heat rise from the glowing bricks. An old woman is pushing my son into the oven. I can see smoke rising from his kicking shoes. My daughter beats against the old woman’s plump backside. In two strides, I’m across the room. I snatch my son from her. She turns on me, saliva dripping from her snarling mouth. Curses fly at me, but her magic is only strong enough to trick children. It is no match for my rage.

She runs from me. My first blow severs her spinal cord. My second cleaves her head from her body. I turn from her corpse and gather my children into my arms, checking fingers and toes and kissing their dear faces again and again.

At last their tears are dry. “Wait outside, little ones,” I say.

I stoke the oven until sweat pours from my skin. I chop up the old woman and put her into the flames. While she turns to ash, I destroy the cottage. We’re due for a good rain. It will wash this place clean.

By the time I scatter the witch’s ashes, the sun is shining.

Holding two little hands in mine, I listen to my children’s chatter as we begin the journey home. Their story wrings my soul. I’ve been fooling myself for years. The woods aren’t safe for innocent children. I can get a job in town—trade the witches and wolves of the forest for the criminals and crooks of the city.

The trail ends. Our little cottage, snug and sturdy, basks in the bright sunshine. On the other hand, I can teach my children to protect themselves. They may be young, but they’re strong and brave. That flat area there, to the left of the house—that will make an excellent sparring ground.

I breathe in the pungent smell of the forest. This is our home. We’ll stay and fight.

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