A couple of months ago I thought about entering a flash-fiction contest. Your work had to either start or include the phrase "the view from the balcony." This is what I wrote, but I got busy, forgot about the contest and never sent it in. So this will never see the light of day anywhere except this blog, but at least my friends will get to see it.
She was lost, but the view from the balcony showed her the way out. A shaft of sunshine sliced through the roiling clouds that had just dumped their burden and temporarily halted her journey. It pointed to a spot just below the balcony, as if suggesting, when the time came, she begin her journey there. It was a good place: a cobblestone path lined with flowers that had only minutes before drooped from thirst and the weight of their dust shrouds. Now, they glistened with crystal water droplets that, pierced by the sunlight, tossed rainbows of confetti onto the cobblestone path, as if celebrating her decision to leave.
With the storm now over, rivulets of rainwater streamed away from the flowers, flowing through the cracks that divided the cobblestones, outlining the various paths that she might take. Below her apartment, a neighbor’s window opened. Voices and laughter drifted up to her and floated around her head, teasing her with their happiness, before soaring skywards on their own journey. Would she be able to catch up with them, she wondered? Perhaps if she hurried.
A breeze kicked up scents of dust, age, and death that sullied the moment of rebirth that the storm had brought. She sighed, resigned. When even your dreams of hope were weighted down by reality, it was time to go. She gazed skywards and whispered to the happy voices: "Wait for me. Please."
She lifted her face to the breeze and let it cool her hot trail of tears. She found the sunlit spot on the path, bent her knees, and jumped. She had been lost, but the view from the balcony showed her the way out. The darkening rivulets of red coursing through the cracks between the bricks indicated that her journey had begun.
Wow. How do you do it? Eloquent, irresistible, and shocking. You never cease to impress.
ReplyDeleteThank you mystery admirer.
ReplyDeleteLinda
It was me, Sue, don't know why my identity was withheld.
ReplyDeleteThis is a great little story, Linda!
ReplyDeletesad and surprising- well done.
ReplyDeleteA haunting five paragraphs, beautiful writing.
ReplyDeleteI love the concept of flash fiction. I learned about it a couple of years ago and made some flash fiction brooches - actually I think maybe I should call them micro-fiction brooches : )