I was eager to enter the Spider Road Press Flash Fiction Contest and a dear friend and fellow author told me that any great piece with less than 750 words began with a strong sentence and ended with a strong sentence.
That sentiment inspired my hypothetical son Thomas (and helped it win a prize)-granted it is a short piece but you’ll want to read the end of it and you can find it in ‘Everyone Dies: Tales from a Morbid Author’ which includes 21 pieces of short fiction in which someone either physically, emotionally, or spiritually dies including never before published pieces like ‘After The Fire’ and fan favorites like ‘The Silencer’.
by Melissa Algood
Sometimes I dream of my hypothetical son.
He’ll jump on the bed, wake his Dad and me proclaiming it’s his sixth birthday.
I’ll brush his dark brown hair from his forehead, kiss his cheeks that turn a perfect caramel color when he’s out in the sun too long, and thank him for reminding me.
He will miraculously appear that very morning.
I’ll make him a chocolate cake, from scratch, then pipe ‘Thomas’ in robin’s egg blue icing. As it cools, my son and his Dad will play a game of catch in the backyard.
Afterwards, our son will run his sweaty finger along the side of the bright white mixing bowl, and giggle as he licks it clean.
We’ll take him bowling, where he’ll score a 300, and the whole alley will sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to my son right before he blows out the candles on his cake.
There will be water balloon fights, which his Dad will win, then my son and I will turn the garden hose on him. My son will gaze in wonderment as a rainbow stretches across the yard. He’ll run through the rush of lukewarm water in an attempt to catch it, and refuse to come inside until the sun goes down.
When we tuck him in to sleep, I’ll stay and read to him about the greatest teenage wizard in all of England.
“Is there really magic, Mommy?” he’ll ask.
I’ll grin and whisper to him, making it a secret between us. “Yes, Thomas. That’s how you got here.”
When he gets the flu, I’ll sleep with him every night in the hopes the virus will use me as its host, and not my beloved.
He’ll hold my hand when we’re out in public and ask me to hold on tighter if we come across a snake. The cold, slimy, slithering reptiles will be his only fear.
Then one day he won’t intertwine my fingers with his.
Thomas’ story isn’t over yet-to read the rest of her wild night download ‘Everyone Dies: Tales from a Morbid Author’ on Amazon here