I don’t do these pieces/contests often…mainly because I am very much a long-form writer. From time to time, however, I love the challenge of doing something so very different. To restrict myself so tightly is hard, and like watching what I eat, I have to learn to “enjoy” the things so very hard for me.
This is another piece I did for a flash-fiction contest. Like the last piece I posted, this was a very tightly limited contest: one hundred words to tell a story. There were no other parameters…I just happened to be in, well, a particularly dark mood at the time:
The rain poured down, plastered hair to head.
It wasn’t enough. Not enough to wash away the pain; not enough to change a life.
The cold iron pressed, made its mark.
A breath…two…it was time.
“I almost didn’t find you,” she said, “I’m sorry I’m late.”
He did look up, then. Only one thing did he see: those eyes. The eyes that encompassed his life.
“You’re not late,” he breathed. The rain was unnoticed, now.
A hand on his head. Fingers through his hair, trailing the warmth and strength so long missed.
He closed his eyes.
Click.
Finding My Way Out 
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