Postcard Fiction
"Very short fiction pieces that wish they were poems."
Write a piece of postcard fiction no longer than 300 words, combining basic short story elements with the figurative imagery, intensity, and economy of poetry.
Post it in the comments box below BEFORE the start of Monday's class, Nov. 2nd. (Late posts will not be counted as complete.)
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ReplyDeleteSociopath - By: Matt McGifford
ReplyDeleteI open the door to the school building, body instinctively facing the direction of the library. I have an essay due first block, and it still needs to be typed out.
I trudge along towards the library, eyes as tired as legs exhausted. I glance over at a bench, occupied by a sullen, withdrawn student. He looks up, and I recognize the face of a friend with whom I talk frequently, though now his is face riddled with signs of depression and despair. I guess I could spare a few minutes to see what is wrong.
“Hey, what’s up?”
His frown deepens. Answering this question seems to be hard for him.
“I-I… uh… I mean… you know…”
“Just spit it out already!”
“I... m-my mother… she… she d-d-died last night”
Interesting, he seems pretty shaken up. Whatever, I guess I’ll feign curiosity for a couple minutes.
“Shit. What happened?”
“Well… she… uh… was driving… highway… sp-speeding bastard… got c-cut off…”
Irritatingly, it takes him the better part of two minutes to spit out that simple sentence. Why am I even wasting my time on something so stupid? I should just be on my way; I have more important things to do.
“Well, that sucks! See ya.”
“Huh?”
With that, I step into the library, and find my way to a computer. I wasted too much time dealing with that guy, so I probably won’t be able finish typing this essay. I can’t believe he would bother me with a problem that irrelevant. So what if some person in your life died? Lighten up dude. It’s almost depressing just looking at you.
I think I need to reconsider some of my friends
I watch a show called dexter and it actually is a pretty accurate to what the main character says and how he acts as he is a sociopath. So the writing was a great description almost of someone who is emotionless basically. I don't know of maybe that's where you got the idea from? I think that the ending might have gone on too long... But everything fit very well
DeleteHey Matt, I don't know if this is supposed to be funny but I found it hilarious the first time I read it??!! (No offence though if it's supposed to be serious) I think it's just because of how ridiculous this guy is (I didn't realize he's actually a sociopath until after reading) in saying that his friend needs to lighten up for being sad about his mother's death. This lack of emotion is nothing something that you encounter everyday, so I think it just took me by surprise haha. Was it supposed to be sarcastic or literal? I actually can't come up with any improvements at all!!
Delete@Kenzie: While I have heard of Dexter, that was not the inspiration for this piece. I'm glad to hear that the piece seemed to make sense, and I have also now taken steps to reduce the length of the ending. Thanks for the feedback!
Delete@Kyoka: The intent was not to be funny, but I am definitely not displeased to hear that is. While it was written to be very literal, the fact that it comes off as sarcastic is something I will try to play around. Thank you, as well, for the feedback!
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ReplyDeleteThis is actually my third comment but I just wanted to let you know that I love this and that it is so cute! I love the dialogue, and especially the main characters personality (and Carla's sass haha)
DeleteI really love this. I think if so cliche in the way that teenage girls think about boys and it definetly holds some truth to what some girls are like. I like how th character Vanessa is so sassy ("it's him who's lucky because Vanessa Galliard does not pick anyone to set her sights on"). I also like how you did the one word comments in between
DeleteHour One: Glaring eyes. Our eyes glare into each other’s glassy, gun powder pupils. Delicately, I fold my limps like Japanese origami and find my zen. I took this elevator to get away from him, to quit my job and begin again. Thirty days ago a simple text silenced the buzzing of my heart and the glisten in my eye that now burns a hole straight through his cornea.
ReplyDeleteHour Two: Hands fidget. Stiff knuckles pop as furious attempts to break through the floor of this metal death trap fail. His extended legs graze the soles of my shoes, his lips form shapes that I refuse to identify. Resistance forces us apart like a broken magnet.
Hour Three: Lips part. My lips part as I fill the musty air with a sigh. Headphones fill my ears with the heavenly rattle of Metallica. 36%, how long is that going to last?
Hour Four: Stomach grumbles. My stomach grumbles as the fantasies of food send survival signals to my stomach. Cheeks blush crimson. His eyes crinkle as the song of my starvation sings through the elevator.
Hour Five: Phone dies. Phone is dead and music is no longer a shield from the ambush of verbal daggers he fires. Chestnut eyes plea for forgiveness. Blue eyes reject. Silence fills the cramped lift with more syllables than words. Tired palms prop up boulders, the floor radiates with regret.
Hour Six: I remember. I’m reminded of the time we were trapped in wintery New York because our taxi broke down. I recite the memory and his body inches closer. Bodies prickle with warmth, mind swells with content. How did we get here?
Hour Seven: We are finally saved from our temporary imprisonment. He reaches to take my hand, I walk the other way.
The use of metaphors in this is really quite captivating, and the imagery is mainly of important parts giving you just enough to picture it yet not giving it all away. The opening of this piece is so strong it automatically catches your attention, and I love how it's broken down into hours. It's a really beautiful piece!
DeleteI applaud your use of impressionistic, vivid sensory details to immerse us in the narrator's discomfort--accessing a few of the senses really pays off in terms of creating atmosphere! I'd suggest not repeating the initial "headings"--either stick with the heading, and move on from them, or eliminate them and begin with the full sentences. And, you might wish to end it one phrase earlier, with "He reaches to take my hand." That way the reader has to guess if this is a reconciliation or not....
DeleteReality Bites
ReplyDeleteAn antisocial teenage nightmare lays face up on her foam-laden mattress. Reads a cover-clad form of escapism, setting her free between lose inked pages.
She smiles as imaginary friends tell unheard jokes in her ears, playing with her emotions as they lose to their struggles unexpectedly on the last page.
An alarm screams icy-hot on the lone girl's sensitive eardrums, burning through scarred tissue of too many ear infections as a child.
She touches her ears as the alien feeling graces them, soon dropping her hands to continue to lose herself in a fictitious world of exciting mayhem.
Cheeks start to turn varying shades of pink as degrees keep piling up to match the intense temperature of the steaming air.
Comfort is dead.
Finally glancing up to find feathery flames tangling around her room like spontaneous invasive ivy.
Shrieks ricochet out of her quickly constricting smoke-chocked throat. She prayed to be heard, but she herself could not hear as the flames bit up her legs claiming her as an offering.
Your descriptive vocabulary is so amazing. I can't even handle it. I always love you use fire as a metaphor and make it so that it is like the readers senses are going through the emotions and feelings that you have your characters go through. If that makes sense
DeleteWow. Just wow. This is very dark, and the twist was perfect. My jaw dropped when I realized what was happening. The line "Comfort is dead" is too harsh, in my opinion. It totally breaks the pace of the story and causes the reader to stumble. I don't know if you really like that line, but, personally, I would remove it. You also have a few sentence fragments that should be fixed.
DeleteOverall, it was a very well written piece.
Sincerely,
Matt
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ReplyDeleteThe crisp, newly fallen powder crunches underneath my brand new boots as I step out of the comfort of the warm lodge and out into the frostbitten new world of the mountains. Taking a deep breath, I welcome the cool air into my lungs and treasure the smell of pine. The gentle, fluffy snowflakes float lazily and join to the fallen snow on the ground. I strap my foot into one of my bindings and adjust my goggles then glide swiftly to the ski lift.
ReplyDeleteIt was so early in the morning there was few people on the hills, hell, i was surprised I could even drag myself out of bed for this. The ride on the lift was unpleasant, howling winds lashed at my face mercilessly and froze me down to my core. But it was going to be worth it.
Nearing the end of the blasting lift ride I prepare myself by placing my unbuckled foot right in front of my back binding and hop off the seat and down the ramp. I cut deeply and stop at the top of the hill to strap my foot in the binding and embrace the pure tranquility of my alpine surroundings.
Then I was off.
Whipping down the run, creating perfect arcs down the steep open slope. Adrenaline pumping through my veins. I lean forward to gain momentum, those gentle, fluffy snowflakes soon become aggressive, pelting me at every angle. As I carve back and forth, I spot a trail leading into the backcountry.
I decided to slide off into the untouched powder, sit down, and take a deep breath embracing everything. It was me, the trees, the snow, the mountains, and nothing else. I have never felt something like this in my life. Complete serenity.
The imagery in this really puts the reader in the setting, and your personification of nature really brings it to life. You also have a really amazing vocabulary and it really just ties everything together to match the theme. I thoroughly enjoyed it!
DeleteThe description of this piece is breathtaking I can definitely picture the gorgeous scene. As I read I was wondering if this possibly was a memory of yours? and/or is it a part of a longer story? My only input of improvement would be to maybe add a more defining element to the main character and to make it seem less like an excerpt. Great story :)
DeleteWhen I was in 7th grade, I always wore ridiculously flamboyant makeup. Pink in the corner of my eyes by my temple, blue in the middle, and green on the inside corner by my nose. Sparkles for eyeliner and black on my waterline to make my eyes look more prominent. And sometimes blue mascara, for something extra.
ReplyDeleteRainbow eyes that made me feel absolutely gorgeous.
After all, it was the first year I was actually allowed to wear makeup to school.
7th grade was a lot of first tastes of sophistication. In 7th grade, I developed my first crush on a boy named Ethan. Ethan with the lovely long hair and blue eyes. But his attention was on Hilory. The girl who wore Earth toned makeup. Browns and blacks. Very subtle and exquisite.
So one day, I put on Browns and blacks. Brown in the corner, by my temple, and black eyeliner.
But I still put on my blue mascara, for something extra.
And I felt stunning. But Ethan still like Hillory. Even though I looked even more wonderful than I did with the rainbow eyes.
But now it didn't matter. Because Ethan had cut his lovely long hair.
Title: rainbow eyes
ReplyDelete"Spring In America"
ReplyDeleteMitchell Hiscoe
When I got older, I knew I'd still sit by the log over the river and watch fireflies dance and jitter in the muggy spring air. I would still try to count them by their luminescence and let my eyes grow heavier and heavier until I would urge them to walk me home.
Back then, the river under that log flowed full and held more life. Back then, the glow of the fireflies would rival the stars in the clear western sky.
Now...
Not so much.
The flits of yellow-green that floated and danced before my eyes when I was young have dwindled. I can count them on my hands and feet.
Maybe next spring, I'll only need my fingers.
Is this about climate/environmental change?? Because that is really the sad kind of vibe that I got. It's really cool how (if that's actually the theme) you took something serious and made it into a poem! I suppose my question would be "is this about climat change" and my suggestion might be to include "only" into your second last sentence. "Now I can count them on only my hands and feet." Awesome job!!
DeleteI really enjoyed this piece. Very creative metaphor about fireflies describing your maturing age? Left a very peaceful lingering vibe. Really great job!
Delete"Losing Heart"
ReplyDeleteLaying on the grass, all sorts of possibilities race through his mind endlessly.
Paying all attention to the slight girl placed between the crook of his arm, lining his body with hers she looks up at him with bright green eyes of jade flecked with gold stars dancing in her pupils.
“You know what I think?” She whispered, coy smile playing on pink glossed lips.
“What do you think?” His smile warm and unsure.
Wriggling softly up to place her lips to his cool ear she murmurs,
“I think you’re in love with me.”
Nestling back into comfortable arms she looks up at him with sparkling eyes reflecting the mischief of teenage years and long nights spent laying in this very spot together, intertwined and not.
Looking down into a face he has studied so very hard through those same years he breathes in, and then out, as the words of beautiful warmth and solitude long to escape from his lips and seek purchase in the delicate soul of the slight girl nestled in his arms, he fights with the fear of what they will mean. That he has something to lose.
So with an equally coy smiling playing on his lips, frayed from being endlessly bitten in frustration for a life he cannot have, he neglects the words that will set free the heart he desperately wishes to call his and he whispers.
“Maybe I am.”
- Brianna Payne
I love the last paragraph and the way you describe his longing desire to tell something life changing, but finds he cannot due to the consequences, very relatable and remarkably accurate to everyday life situations. I was wondering how long they have been together? And what brought on this question of love in the first place? What is her take on being in love with him? In my opinion, this story only needs a little improvement in maybe describing the setting and context of this situation a little more.
DeleteThis piece really expressed a lot of emotion and it really captivated me and made me feel those emotions as i was reading them. I feel like you're really good at writing as if you were somebody else which I also love. And I feel like it was all so well written I don't have any questions or improvements haha
DeleteCreator - Rose de Bruijn
ReplyDeleteNumb fingertips. Shallow breathing. The feeling of being present, yet so far gone. I become unaware of the words I unconsciously write on this page.
No thought process, just action. My fingers gripping the pen so tightly, my hand scrawling the words across the page so quickly the colour on my crimson nails streak the page. It's as if someone has placed the awareness of my being into a comatose state, but my body continues to function as it normally would.
The voices bounce of the walls in my head, a door slams but I pay no mind to the distractions that swarm me because I am lost in the folds of my brain and the lines of faded blue.
I put myself on this paper; I lay myself in the colour of the night and wrap myself in these pages and find comfort. It's as if someone had laid my head carefully on this blank sheet, only so they could shoot a bullet to pass through my thoughts and splatter them in ink.
I consume myself with the desire to write, with the obsession to make these thoughts permanent before they fall from my grasp. I am an author, an artist. I am a creator.
This is such an interesting piece! Your word choice and creative description really allows the reader to feel the urgency and panic that the narrator expresses. One suggestion would be to change the one line to say "I am lost in the folds of my brain and the faded blue lines", however I loved that line. It's a really unique piece.
DeleteEternity -By Hannah Moore
ReplyDelete"What floor?"
I ask the man walking into the elevator. His sunken lips offer no response. Had the doors not already shut, I would have left.
Soft music dances in my ears. His stare dances over my body.
My stomach sinks as we lurch up. I feel sick. Palms sweaty, I looks to the man with the sunken lips. His emerald eyes lock with mine, refusing to fleet. A dew drop from his hairline soaks untamed eyebrows. My face burns as I look to the stained carpet; tracing the simple pattern.
Then it all goes black. We aren't moving. Remaining suspended over the concrete ground, my pulse throbs. His footsteps, slow and firm, make their way to my corner of the box. Weakened by fear, I slide down the wall.
His cologne coats my nose as he slips next to me. No words are spoken. I feel him shift his hip so it makes contact with mine. Unsteady breath warms my neck.
I try to yell but my lungs drown in terror.
We stay like this for an eternity.
The whole time, my eyes wide and wet. looking for a glimpse of light I cannot find. Until the walls begin to vibrate, the lights flick on and we continue our ascent.
We don't move.
When the doors open he walks out, never looking back. I remain in my corner; wondering how long I stopped breathing for.
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