Flash fiction has always intrigued me. Being able to make an audience feel or being able to capture them in your words seems to be ten times harder when you have so few of them. So when I saw that Rosalie Valentine was hosting a Flash Fiction Dash, I was intrigued.
The Flash Fiction Dash is a challenge where Rosalie gives you either a picture prompt or a words prompt (I can't remember if I chose a words prompt or picture prompt, but since I got an image file with words on it, I'm guessing it was a words prompt), and you write a story from that prompt in under 1,000 words. Here's my prompt:
When I saw the prompt, I was so excited because - guys, it mentions Shakespeare. The theater geek in me was over the moon. I wasn't originally going to make the story actually about theater, but this little sprite got ahold of me a few months ago and has been begging to actually being put down on paper. The prompt had his personality written all over it, so after a lot of resisting I let him run with it. And here's the product.
“Hello?”
As I walked onto the middle of the stage, grasping my thermos of hot chocolate, it felt like invisible eyes were scrutinizing my every move. When an actress is alone onstage, she is meant to be stared at. Now, with no one there to watch me, it felt as if I was defying the rules of theater - or like some unseen person was watching me after all.
When Uncle Alex said to let myself in through the stage door if Max was late picking me up, I’d thought it would be simple. Stay out of the cold, wait for my chronically-late cousin, and leave. I just didn’t expect my uncle to be serious when he warned me about ghosts.
Three minutes after I’d settled myself at the edge of the stage and opened my thermos to warm up, the first crash came. I jumped, almost spilling the hot chocolate on myself. Something had fallen, somewhere backstage.
I got more unsettled as three more things crashed in the next three minutes. When the speakers above me unexpectedly screeched with feedback, I let out a small scream, and looked around wildly.
“Who’s there?” I tried to sound brave; but no one answered. I took a deep breath, then took a sip of chocolate to calm my nerves. Max couldn’t be much later, and I could leave.
My heart was still pounding when the speakers screamed again and something landed at my feet with a clatter. One of the whiteboards that Uncle Alex liked to use, with writing on it. Can I have some chocolate?
Someone was watching me. My nerves, the shivering, building mass of them that were threatening to overflow, snapped a second later when another whiteboard came flying from nowhere - Pretty please?
“No!” the words escaped me before I could think. “No, you sneaking, wide-eyed, cowardly sprite - I’d let you turn to ice cream before you’d get some!”
The echo hung over the auditorium, which seemed to scream its silence back at me. And then -
“Shakespeare would be proud.” The voice came from above me, and I froze.
It continued. “Maybe. I mean, I don’t know him personally.” I inched my head up, and almost screamed again.
Sitting on a beam high above was a boy hardly older than me. As I watched, he stood - and hovered roughly twenty feet in the air. I could almost see through him.
“But I mean - poisonous bunch-backed toads, cream-faced loon - the guy’s a master of insults. I think yours fits right in.”
He floated between the rafters, not even looking at me. He spied a board on the scaffold across the stage, and a wicked grin appeared on his face.
The crash the board made when it hit the ground was only half as loud as the beating of my heart.
The thing turned around, laughing. “Did that scare you, little g-” Blue eyes met mine and his smile faltered. The theater must have gone silent again, but my heartbeat could have been magnified in the hall for all I knew.
Then it spoke again, a slow smirk forming on its face. “You can see me.” When I didn’t move, it floated towards me. “You can see me, can’t you?”
Eyes wide, I nodded.
It let out sudden whoop that made me flinch, and did a flip in the air. “I knew it! Finally - someone new to talk to. You have no idea what a bore Alex can be-”
“What are you?” Again, the words tumbled out unplanned.
It - he - cocked an eyebrow at me, unfazed. “Well, every good theater needs a ghost, wouldn’t you say?”
I stared at him, unable to connect the dots. “You’re a ghost.”
“Spirit, haunt, spook, monster, devil, handsome - whatever you want to call me. But yes, I’ve been called ghost most often in the past ten years.”
I remembered my uncle’s warning. I’d thought he was joking. “Ten years?”
He glided over to me and sat down, cross-legged. “July 14th. Car crash. Screech of tires, metal and - boom - end of Theo Lancaster. I wake up here and barely anyone can see me.”
“I’m sorry.” My heartbeat was starting to return to normal, and I relaxed a little.
He waved his hand. “There’s worse that could have happened - and apparently I don’t age, so I’ll stay handsome forever!”
I laughed, then cocked my head, studying him. “Were you an actor here?”
Theo nodded. “Nine shows in a row. But I’ve learned to do pretty much everything backstage now. Too much free time.”
“Do you still act?” I motioned at the empty stage. “I mean, you have the whole theater to yourself.”
He shrugged. “Not really. What’s the point of acting if no one can see you?”
I didn’t know what to say to that, and sipped my hot chocolate. Then I glanced up at him. “Well, you have an audience now.”
He stared at me. “You want me to act?”
“Why not? It’s not everyday I get to see a theater ghost perform.”
Theo eyed the thermos in my hands. “I was serious when I asked for hot chocolate, you know.”
I laughed. “Alright, you can have some. But I get to see you act first.”
“You’re bribing me?”
I grinned, and held thermos in front of him. “It’s working, isn’t it?”
He glared, but grinned as he floated to his feet. “You’ve known me for less than an hour and you’ve already found my weakness.” He took a position in the middle of the stage. “My performance is dedicated to the hostage hot chocolate.”
Anyone else would have thought I was alone in the theater. They wouldn’t be been able to see the performance of a lifetime.
As I walked onto the middle of the stage, grasping my thermos of hot chocolate, it felt like invisible eyes were scrutinizing my every move. When an actress is alone onstage, she is meant to be stared at. Now, with no one there to watch me, it felt as if I was defying the rules of theater - or like some unseen person was watching me after all.
When Uncle Alex said to let myself in through the stage door if Max was late picking me up, I’d thought it would be simple. Stay out of the cold, wait for my chronically-late cousin, and leave. I just didn’t expect my uncle to be serious when he warned me about ghosts.
Three minutes after I’d settled myself at the edge of the stage and opened my thermos to warm up, the first crash came. I jumped, almost spilling the hot chocolate on myself. Something had fallen, somewhere backstage.
I got more unsettled as three more things crashed in the next three minutes. When the speakers above me unexpectedly screeched with feedback, I let out a small scream, and looked around wildly.
“Who’s there?” I tried to sound brave; but no one answered. I took a deep breath, then took a sip of chocolate to calm my nerves. Max couldn’t be much later, and I could leave.
My heart was still pounding when the speakers screamed again and something landed at my feet with a clatter. One of the whiteboards that Uncle Alex liked to use, with writing on it. Can I have some chocolate?
Someone was watching me. My nerves, the shivering, building mass of them that were threatening to overflow, snapped a second later when another whiteboard came flying from nowhere - Pretty please?
“No!” the words escaped me before I could think. “No, you sneaking, wide-eyed, cowardly sprite - I’d let you turn to ice cream before you’d get some!”
The echo hung over the auditorium, which seemed to scream its silence back at me. And then -
“Shakespeare would be proud.” The voice came from above me, and I froze.
It continued. “Maybe. I mean, I don’t know him personally.” I inched my head up, and almost screamed again.
Sitting on a beam high above was a boy hardly older than me. As I watched, he stood - and hovered roughly twenty feet in the air. I could almost see through him.
“But I mean - poisonous bunch-backed toads, cream-faced loon - the guy’s a master of insults. I think yours fits right in.”
He floated between the rafters, not even looking at me. He spied a board on the scaffold across the stage, and a wicked grin appeared on his face.
The crash the board made when it hit the ground was only half as loud as the beating of my heart.
The thing turned around, laughing. “Did that scare you, little g-” Blue eyes met mine and his smile faltered. The theater must have gone silent again, but my heartbeat could have been magnified in the hall for all I knew.
Then it spoke again, a slow smirk forming on its face. “You can see me.” When I didn’t move, it floated towards me. “You can see me, can’t you?”
Eyes wide, I nodded.
It let out sudden whoop that made me flinch, and did a flip in the air. “I knew it! Finally - someone new to talk to. You have no idea what a bore Alex can be-”
“What are you?” Again, the words tumbled out unplanned.
It - he - cocked an eyebrow at me, unfazed. “Well, every good theater needs a ghost, wouldn’t you say?”
I stared at him, unable to connect the dots. “You’re a ghost.”
“Spirit, haunt, spook, monster, devil, handsome - whatever you want to call me. But yes, I’ve been called ghost most often in the past ten years.”
I remembered my uncle’s warning. I’d thought he was joking. “Ten years?”
He glided over to me and sat down, cross-legged. “July 14th. Car crash. Screech of tires, metal and - boom - end of Theo Lancaster. I wake up here and barely anyone can see me.”
“I’m sorry.” My heartbeat was starting to return to normal, and I relaxed a little.
He waved his hand. “There’s worse that could have happened - and apparently I don’t age, so I’ll stay handsome forever!”
I laughed, then cocked my head, studying him. “Were you an actor here?”
Theo nodded. “Nine shows in a row. But I’ve learned to do pretty much everything backstage now. Too much free time.”
“Do you still act?” I motioned at the empty stage. “I mean, you have the whole theater to yourself.”
He shrugged. “Not really. What’s the point of acting if no one can see you?”
I didn’t know what to say to that, and sipped my hot chocolate. Then I glanced up at him. “Well, you have an audience now.”
He stared at me. “You want me to act?”
“Why not? It’s not everyday I get to see a theater ghost perform.”
Theo eyed the thermos in my hands. “I was serious when I asked for hot chocolate, you know.”
I laughed. “Alright, you can have some. But I get to see you act first.”
“You’re bribing me?”
I grinned, and held thermos in front of him. “It’s working, isn’t it?”
He glared, but grinned as he floated to his feet. “You’ve known me for less than an hour and you’ve already found my weakness.” He took a position in the middle of the stage. “My performance is dedicated to the hostage hot chocolate.”
Anyone else would have thought I was alone in the theater. They wouldn’t be been able to see the performance of a lifetime.
Overall, I had so much fun writing this, and I think that it was a great exercise. I'm generally a rambler and struggle to stop myself from writing just a little more. This story was no exception: at 951 words, I'm just there at the 1,000 word limit. But the challenge was so much fun, and it definitely made me want to explore flash fiction some more.
What do you think? Have you ever written flash fiction before? Are you interested in writing some now?
Wow. Just wow. That was amazing, True! I especially loved the ghost aspect of it. And AAHH THEO!
ReplyDeleteThank you - I'm glad that you like it! (And am especially glad that you like Theo, because I have some things planned for him in the near future.)
DeleteWait - did I read that correctly? MORE WITH THEO????!!!! *flails madly*
DeleteThis was so much fun to read, True! I love hot chocolate. I love Shakespeare. AND YOU PUT THEM TOGETHER YOU ARE A GENIUS. *whispers* More please? ;)
ReplyDeleteHaha - I'm glad that you enjoyed it! Yes - hot chocolate and Shakespeare. Two of the joys of life. And I might play around with some more like this. We'll see. ;)
DeleteThis was great! I found it rather hilarious (I mean, a ghost that's cool with being a ghost is pretty funny). Great work!
ReplyDeleteGlad you liked it! And I love how you sum up Theo - a ghost who's cool with being a ghost. I haveb't thought of him like that before, but that does describe him well in this story!
DeleteAHHHHHHH THIS IS AMAZING!!!! I love it!!! Seriously, a ghost who wants hot chocolate??? This is epic!!
ReplyDeleteAw, thank you! It was fun to write - and a fun concept to come up with.
DeleteSo I am ABOMINABLY late to comment on this but ASLHFLJASGLJGALJSGJ this is one of my favorite things of ever. I have no words. I love this so much. OH gracious <3 <3 <3 *has many feels*
ReplyDeleteVery interesting. There seems to be a thing for theater and ghosts. Maybe Shakespeare has something to do with that. Or Phantom of the Opera. Your theater ghost, Theo, is an interesting character to be sure.
ReplyDelete