Flashing Through The Snow

The snow that's falling today is plentiful, but my thoughts of what to share with you today are not. 

It could be the multitude of changes in my life over the past few months, or it could be the recent losses I've endured that lead me to this piece of flash fiction I wrote about 8 years ago. 

 A few years ago I spent a lot of time writing flash fiction. These are tiny bites of stories, or ones that are complete with a limited number of words. You might find these types of stories in a magazine, or on a blog. They're often a challenge to write, but really work those writing muscles and make you realize how important each word is when you have to be concise to a very limited number of words.

So for those who have tired of the snow and cold of winter, I offer this piece of flash fiction.

Winter Solstice 

    "But the doctor said—"

            “I don’t care!” Marge pushed past John into their son’s room.

            “Hey sweetheart.” She smiled while kneeling to stroke David’s cheek. “Want to meet Mr. Winter in person?”

            David struggled to focus on her. “Really?” 

            “Yes.” Marge wrapped the comforter around him and scooped him up.  Walking over to the window, she nudged the wheelchair out of the way. “Look, he’s been waiting to meet you.”  

            David squinted at the glistening snowman.  

            John held the back door open as Marge exited with the bundle barely resembling their rambunctious six year old.

            She cradled her son while easing into the chair placed by the snowman. While pulling the comforter from David’s face, a breeze ruffled his sparse, blonde hair. “How does he look?” 

             David studied his frosty friend. “He’s missing something.”  

            “I know,” Marge pulled a plastic pipe from her pocket.  “You always put it in.”

            David smiled and she helped him grip the pipe.  Leaning forward, they pushed it into the snowy smile.  

            David’s smiled faded. “He won’t be here much longer.”

            Marge hugged her son. “You’re wrong. He’s part of everything.” She kissed David’s forehead. “The rain that makes the flowers grow, or creates a rainbow,” she traced her finger down his cheek. “Or cooling the Fall winds until the snow returns.”  

            “So…he’s not really gone.”     

            “No,” Marge looked into eyes that matched her own and pressed David’s hand to her heart as her tears fell and absorbed into the snow. “He’s always here.”

Do You Ever Write, or Read, Flash Fiction?

Author Bio: Maureen Bonatch grew up in small town Pennsylvania and her love of the four seasons—hockey, biking, sweat pants and hibernation—keeps her there. While immersed in writing or reading paranormal romance and fantasy, she survives on caffeine, wine, music, and laughter. A feisty Shih Tzu keeps her in line. Find Maureen on her website, Facebook& Twitter

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