August 12, 2020 - Entre oscuro y claro - Flash Fiction: 12

Flash Fiction: 12

At a bustop in front of a small restaurant. A man down on his luck attempts to get the attention of the crowd of six freezing souls waiting for the bus to pull up. Most, if not all of them, are heading to work across town. He looks at everybody but no one will look at him. He starts to speak.

“You can say my name is Xava. If that’s what you want. Or Salvador if you prefer to be proper. Either way, I’m the same guy. Jeans and a t-shirt wearing, sing of the cross at freeways, nachos from the ice-cream truck guy. Needs to get some food in his belly kinda guy. 

“I’m not worried about my name though. What I’d like to do is sell you this ring I have here. It has one diamond that’s a pretty good size. 

“Ma’am, you interested? Sir? Want a closer look?

“No need to step back. Don’t be scared. Jesus. You all jumped back like I got that Covid. But I don’t. I don’t. I don’t have a lot of things and right now I’d like to get some money for food. This ring is worth a good amount. All I want is $100….. I’ll take $50.”

Not one reply or even nod from those standing. He releases a long breath that sends a cloud of cold smoke out of his mask. Some shoots up around his nose.

One of the men standing is holding two coffees in a cardboard container. He’s holding a small book in his other hand and he’s looking at Xava with extreme disdain in his eyes. 

Xava catches the man’s eyes for a second and lets it sink in that this man hates him. 

Ring! Ring! A bike riding on the sidewalk startles Xava forcing him to jump out of the way. Knocking the coffee out of the disdainful man’s hand and splashing it on his khakis. The man doesn’t even say a word. He simply reaches back and smacks Xava so hard it sends the ring twirling down the sidewalk, off the curb and into the sewage drain. 

As the bus arrives and everyone gets on, Xava is left sitting on the floor rocking back and forth, in tears.

Meanwhile, inside the restaurant a woman and her child wait for Xava to return with money so they could eat.

August 07, 2020 - Heavy light poles - Flash Fiction: 7

Flash Fiction: 7

He had already turned in the manuscript. All one thousand three hundred twenty seven pages it. He made sure to double check all the submittal guidelines he had found through the web.

-Use 12-point type. ✓
-Use a serif font. ✓
-Double space your manuscript. ✓
-Etc.

As he sat with his paleta melting in one hand, he remembered looking over the entire book to make sure he had left only one space between sentences. On Chavez and Soto the daily cacophony was no match for the voices in his head. Sure the manuscript looked perfect. But it was the quality of his writing he couldn’t stop thinking about. Was he any good? The vulnerability of leaving it in someone else hands to dissect and judge was eating him internally. 

He threw away what was left of the paleta and opened his laptop to go over it again. Nobody even noticed him as he sat on the grimy sidewalk reading to himself.

He’s in this alone at the moment. His family doesn’t understand what all goes into actually putting together a novel. All they see is him wasting away at the keyboard and not contributing to the state of the refrigerator inventory. Every time they come home from the market he feels embarrassed that he didn’t contribute but he helps as much as he can carrying the bags. As if that brought some kind of balance. 

He needs this book to be perfect. He couldn’t find any mistakes in it but he knows he’s looking at it with a paternal love. What flaws will this person uncover?

Two weeks later there is still no word from the publisher. He won’t allow himself to fall into doubt or depression. He waits. Instead he starts to work on a new book. A new story born from the despair of his current concerns. Creativity loves to dwell here.

The email finally arrives. He will be published. He writes back confidently pitching his next book. 

He helps bring in the groceries with a smile.