Meg Sefton's Blog, page 21
November 6, 2021
Day 5: He knew he was going to die
Hazmat suits at Polesden Lacey, Lex McKee, flickr
He knew he was going to die because he couldn’t survive his suicidal ideations in the Land of Sun Rising where aberrant beliefs and dysfunctions were penalized with enforced labor and death. Had he successfully killed himself, his name would have been cursed forever and according to the state religion, his soul would continually tread on a burning wheel.
I agreed to take the fall, killing him, but with belladonna, often not detected though the state had become vigilant to the point of absurdity. Even shedded skin cells could supposedly be examined for anger, despair, murderous intent, though some of us knew this up-to-date “information” on forensic investigation was likely just another psyop, designed to make us compliant. There were many, however, who had become unable to be critical.
Once the requisite time for the poisoning had completed its course, I checked his apartment for the horrible evidence of his end. Despite myself, I had worried my skin cells may give away motive and so donned a stolen hazmat suit. I called the county so that they may retrieve his body. No one suspected anything. And he was of no importance.
I had no money for a funeral, nor did he. I was able to claim his ashes and spread them in the sea.
November 4, 2021
Day 4: On the edge of the mining town…
Thurmond, WV by Leann Arthur, flickr
On the edge of the mining town, my brother crushes up pills for the Snow Queen. He said one night she came to him in a dream and whispered secrets of the shattered mirror and the way to Gerda. I said I am always up for an adventure and swoosh, blue snow up the nose and we are floating. I have never seen such beauty, such perfect whiteness, and I vaguely feel my brother’s hand as it squeezes mine, and I know I will never go back, even if our mother begs and pleads, even if Granny pleads to the heavens. I will never leave this deep sleep of my Lapland, my Never Never.
November 3, 2021
FlashNano, Day 3: “Find a Vein and Let it Bleed”
For Day 3 of FlashNano, I decided not to do a reblog and just keep this response to Flashnano mostly confined to “Within a Forest Dark.” Hopefully, I haven’t already confused readers with reblogs. (I once directed someone to my blog because he wanted to see my writing and he said I didn’t post here. I have the feeling he didn’t really think I wrote and was just copying and pasting the work of other people. Idk. This was a dating situation, someone I met online who is also a writer. The whole thing was a no-go from the jump, obvs.)
Day 3 prompt: “Write about something wrong that turns out to be right.” I hope you are doing well. Happy hump day— Margaret
Image from page 575 of “Industrial medicine and surgery” (1919), flicker
My arms were collecting bruises in the cold PET scan room. No one was able to find a sturdy vein for the thick needle. The injection would deliver the radiaotracer to the cancer cells which would then show up on the scan. With all the delays, my parents were complaining to staff they would be late for their dinner party. Mom threatened to go home in time to welcome dinner guests, Mom never being one for hospitals and my currency with her dropping by the minute with my ill health and weakness. Finally, a young, tall, ropey guy made an entrance. I’m not even sure he was a nurse or a tech though he worked at the hospital in some capacity. He said he had done street drugs for a long time and knew just what to do. Sure enough: One stick. I teared up as the cold radioactive liquid coursed through my arm and body. “I have better parties to go to,” I imagined saying to Mom, a staunch Christian society woman, “Parties with street folk, you know, the ones Jesus loved.
November 2, 2021
FlashNano, Day 2: “A Man with 3 Cats”
[I am writing this sitting outside a car dealership where I am having an expensive engine diagnostic which could lead to an expensive repair. There are sirens going off, lots of exhaust. This major road is considered a kind of East coast vice alley. And I have never written a story on my phone before. I am determined to have Flashnano adventures. Happy Flashnano day 2 fellow scribes.]
Frankie stroked his pussy, the ginger, while Greta fixed her eyeliner before the gold antique mirror in his retro-styled apartment. She always stopped by before dates to make sure she didn’t look crazy. Or desperate.
He was always cool as a stone sphinx. “You be the judge, not the other way around, honey.” He said, extending his drink out to her, a skinny ‘Rita, and she tripped over the calicos. How did cats always know she hated them? They loved her more for it and wanted to be as physically close as possible.
She slurped down the boozy lime coolness.
“Come back here after,” Frankie said. Actually, that was usually the best part of her night.
When the evening was over and her date had walked her to her car, he wouldn’t allow her to open the door and get inside. Something in his eyes had alarmed her, something dark.
‘Goodbye, Frankie,’ she said quietly.
Day 2: Write about a man who owns at least three cats(Thanks to Jean Feingold for today’s guest prompt!)
Not already on the FlashNano list? Join us here:
FlashNano 2021: Day 2
[I am writing this sitting outside a car dealership where I am having an expensive engine diagnostic which could lead to an expensive repair. There are sirens going off, lots of exhaust. This major road is considered a kind of East coast vice alley. And I have never written a story on my phone before. I am determined to have Flashnano adventures. Happy Flashnano day 2 fellow scribes.]
Frankie stroked his pussy, the ginger, while Greta fixed her eyeliner before the gold antique mirror in his retro-styled apartment. She always stopped by before dates to make sure she didn’t look crazy. Or desperate.
He was always cool as a stone sphinx. “You be the judge, not the other way around, honey.” He said, extending his drink out to her, a skinny ‘Rita, and she tripped over the calicos. How did cats always know she hated them? They loved her more for it and wanted to be as physically close as possible.
She slurped down the boozy lime coolness.
“Come back here after,” Frankie said. Actually, that was usually the best part of her night.
When the evening was over and her date had walked her to her car, he wouldn’t allow her to open the door and get inside. Something in his eyes had alarmed her, something dark.
‘Goodbye, Frankie,’ she said quietly.
Day 2: Write about a man who owns at least three cats(Thanks to Jean Feingold for today’s guest prompt!)
Not already on the FlashNano list? Join us here:
November 1, 2021
FlashNano, Day 1: “Blind Speed Dating”
Day 1: A story that takes place in the dark. “Blind Speed Dating.”
What I remember from that night is groping to find my way to an assigned table, guided only by a rope, spilling wine on my hand as I attempt to bring the rim of a glass to my lips, a tapa being inserted into my mouth by a stranger. With each new “date,” there is an unfamiliar male voice saying “Hello.” I parrot back: “Hello.” Getting to know faces is encouraged through physical touch. Fingers travel up my arms and onto my cheeks, eyes, hair. One set of fingers lingers on my shoulder and travels down to my breasts. When it comes time for fumble fingers to feed me a tapa, I bite down hard. Later, I wake up in an alley, my head throbbing, my purse having been raped of my wallet, phone, and keys.
HERE WE GO!!
BTW–We are going to do a month of guest prompts!
But I will start us off…
Day 1: Write a story that takes place in the darkNot already on the FlashNano list? Join us here:
FlashNano 2021: Day 1
Day 1: A story that takes place in the dark. “Blind Speed Dating.”
What I remember from that night is groping to find my way to an assigned table, guided only by a rope, spilling wine on my hand as I attempt to bring the rim of a glass to my lips, a tapa being inserted into my mouth by a stranger. With each new “date,” there is an unfamiliar male voice saying “Hello.” I parrot back: “Hello.” Getting to know faces is encouraged through physical touch. Fingers travel up my arms and onto my cheeks, eyes, hair. One set of fingers lingers on my shoulder and travels down to my breasts. When it comes time for fumble fingers to feed me a tapa, I bite down hard. Later, I wake up in an alley, my head throbbing, my purse having been raped of my wallet, phone, and keys.
HERE WE GO!!
BTW–We are going to do a month of guest prompts!
But I will start us off…
Day 1: Write a story that takes place in the darkNot already on the FlashNano list? Join us here:
October 28, 2021
Creative Community
Bekk II, Nick Vidal-Hall, flickr
One thing I enjoy about flash fiction writing is that it often involves community.
A few years ago, I joined an online platform for poets and writers. We frequently posted new short pieces and received encouragement and feedback. It was my first time interacting with other writers who, like me, were writing small, concentrated work.
I have also been involved in a flash fiction competition that was held in a public space. Let’s just say, I didn’t win and the handling of the competition was humiliating. In general, writing can be competitive for certain people and in certain settings. That just isn’t me.
But having a short piece to read at a creative event is a great way to participate in sharing with others. Participants often read for five minutes and flash writing fits into this (I use a shorter 250-word piece for a five-minute reading and a one thousand word piece if I have 20-30 minutes.). A meaningful night organized by a friend had some of us reading our stories in an outdoor museum setting. At the end of the night, I got to read a piece with a band playing in the background.
This month, I have been participating in the NYC Midnight 250 word flash fiction competition. Although “competition” is part of the title, the meaningful part for me has been interacting with others—reading their work, giving feedback, receiving feedback.
Next month, I will be involved with Nancy Stohlman’s Flashnano. Some are meeting on social media to share their short pieces and interact. I often meet new people and this has taken on a whole new meaning for me during this season of pandemic.
While public spaces are shuttered to creative gatherings, it has been a relief to find solace among fellow writers online.
October 27, 2021
Inktober: Double
bloody mary by Aaron Edwards, flickr
After only one week, I gave up on my diet and made myself a double Bloody Mary using my favorite mix. Upon taking a large swig, the taste of iron flooded my mouth—blood! Reviews said because of supply chain issues, substitutions had been made.
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Inktober: Jolt
Window by Steve Stone, flickr
An Ivy League fiction writing instructor forbade his students from seeking psychological treatment, saying students wrote better during a low-grade depression. One night, he jolted upright in a cold sweat. In his nightmare, the spirits of suicides had been inscribing words into his flesh.
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