Tag Archives: work

Shared Feelings – Flash Fiction

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They’d been working together in silence. A comfortable silence. They each got on with their own work, doing what they had to do with no chatter, no laughter. It certainly wasn’t unusual for them to do so, but it was definitely not the norm to be so quiet, so engrossed in their own work.
“You ok?” he asked, looking up from his desk and breaking the silence.
She glanced up from what she was doing and looked him straight in the eye. Spending a second considering what to say, she took a deep breath;
“I feel stuck” she stated, her voice taking on a tone of realism rather than her usual bright vocals. “I feel like I’m having a quarter life crisis or something. I’m in a state of flux – I don’t like everything about my life, but I don’t know how to fix those bad bits. I don’t know what to do for the best. I just don’t feel like I’m living – barely existing really. I get all these ideas about what I could do, but I’m too lazy to pursue them – too tired! I’ve got no real passion anymore. Nothing that will satisfy my creativity and be an income. I want the money, but without the work. I don’t want this 9 – 5 existence, going home exhausted and only living for the weekend – why is that even a way of life? It’s soul destroying. But it’s the norm, and the easy way out I guess.”
She trailed off; thinking about everything she just released, she turned to him, wondering if she had freaked him out with her verbal unloading.
“I feel exactly the same way” he half-smiled

 

[277 words]

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Filed under based on real life, flash fiction, writing exercises

Meraki – Flash Fiction

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Meraki – to do something with soul, creativity, or love; when you leave a piece of yourself in your work

*****

“This is your best work” she declared, “Just the kind of thing we want for our exhibit. Original. Exciting.”

He smiled at her as she glanced at him – the kind of smile that was forced, that took a lot of energy to muster. The second she turned back to his work, that smile quickly turned into a wince.

He was weak. Incredibly so. It pained him to move and pained him to be still. The time spent on his most recent pieces of art had certainly taken their toll upon his body; but it was worth it.

He wanted to create something that was unique; unlike anything the world had ever seen before, and to have the curator from the country’s best gallery, claiming it to be his best work, was simply the best thing ever. Years of being a failing artist were about to fade away. The blood sweat and tears that went in to it were totally and completely worth it – as were the trimmings from his hair, the clippings from his nails, and the slices of his own skin.

“It’s totally avant garde” claimed the curator

 

[208 words]

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Filed under creative writing, flash fiction, Words and their meanings

The Mystery of Her

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Day after day, year after year, he had said nothing of his affections. He often thought about doing so, of coming right out with it but he just couldn’t do it. Scared of more rejection, the fear of being even more alone if she spurned him. The one time he did try to tell her he got all flustered and was tripping over his words; he felt like an utter buffoon and came out with something else instead that made him feel completely foolish and left him too self-conscious. It was then he decided that having her as a friend was better than nothing at all, and all though he was completely infatuated with her, he would tell her nothing of his feelings.

They had met at the bookstore, bonded over a love of greek mythology, and since then remained good friends, meeting up a few times a week. She had told him of some on-off boyfriend but other than that she was a mystery to him, a complete enigma. In some ways he thought he knew her but often she would say or do something that made him think he didn’t. Somedays she would be perfectly normal, chatty and friendly, but sometimes she would speak in riddles, avoid answering questions, and always be looking around, almost disinterested.

The chatty friendly version of her became more frequent in their meetings, and whilst he yearned for her to feel the same as he did, he never acted upon his feelings.

One day, he received a phone call from some man. This man was a brother she had never mentioned before who wept down the phone as he told of how she had died in a car accident a few days before. He hung up the phone; not listening to the details of what had happened. He was in shock. He did not want to believe that she was dead.

*****

It took him a long time to bring himself round to visiting her grave. He wanted to do it, say one final goodbye, but it was too hard, too emotional. When he finally convinced himself to go, he stood at her headstone for some time before eventually, with a single tear strolling down his cheek he whispered,

“I love you” his chest heaved and his tears came stronger and harder.

“I love you too” came an emotional voice from behind him.

Slowly turning around, his eyes rested upon her. At the mere sight of her it felt like his heart was going to jump out of his throat.

There she stood, even more beautiful than he remembered. He couldn’t move, stricken with confusion and overwhelming love. The two looked and smiled at each other before he finally strode toward her, full of confidence he had never experienced before, pulled her into his arms, kissed her and held her like he was never going to let go.

“I thought you were dead” he exclaimed through tears of happiness

Nodding, she pulled away from him and took something out of her pocket to show him.

It was an ID card. Underneath the logo of Her Majesty’s Government was a photo of her, next to a name he didn’t recognise.

“Let’s go back to yours,” she suggested, “I’ve got some explaining to do”

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Filed under based on writing exercises, creative writing, emotional, flash fiction, Uncategorized

Escape

My eyes were fixed blankly on the computer screen in front of me, unaware of the people and conversations that surrounded me. I was bored. Fed-up. Unproductive. Day-dreaming of better days to come yet annoyed with myself for not putting in the effort to make future dreams a reality.

I wanted to be anywhere except at work. It was repetitive, fruitless and full of bossy, pretentious co-workers. I didn’t have the confidence to pursue my life’s ambitions and had become lifeless, dull and inactive; resigning myself to an office job, working 9 til 5. What a way to make a living.

My thoughts were often interrupted by the boss who would come over to ask me to do something. On the other side of me, a colleague would appear as well, also asking me to do something. I felt cornered, confined to the standard issue office swivel chair, spinning from one person to the next, never-ending to-do-list; everyone’s dogsbody.

One day, in the middle of another menial task, I felt twinges in my back. It started off like little flutters within the muscles, I thought from hunching over my desk, but before long an agony began, spreading across my shoulders. Suddenly it felt like my bones and muscles were trying to escape, pulling from me. I felt something protruding from me. I moved frantically trying to get a better look, urgently moving toward the mirror in the little kitchenette area.

My colleagues didn’t glance my way; they were too absorbed in themselves. I was panicked. The sound of material shredding made me more frantic. What was happening to me?!

I fell to my knees in agony as something grew from my being. I winced and growled, fearing what was happening when, as quickly as it started, it stopped. I glanced over my shoulder, feeling a weight on my back. I didn’t want to believe it. I thought I was going insane, having a mental breakdown when, looking in that small wall mirror, I saw them for the first time.

There on my back; from my shoulder blades to be precise, were a pair of big, dark feathery wings.

With a little effort I managed to make them flutter. With a little more effort I lifted off the ground. I was unsteady but I kept fluttering, concentrating hard on making these things go. I kept flapping. My fear changed to joy in my new found state.

I lifted higher and higher in the air, my co-workers still too absorbed in their work to notice as I flew through the entrance doors, never to return.

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Day 30 – Not A Robot

Day 30 – Inspired by the lyrics “I’m not a robot”, by Marina and the Diamonds, I’ve created this little piece. It feels like it needs more description and detail, but as a piece of Flash Fiction, I think it works. Happy Reading…

Geena was overworked and underpaid. Spending her days running between meetings, updating reports, on the phone to numerous different people and then coming home to do housework and look after her kids, making sure they ate well and that they did their homework. She had no time at all for herself; she didn’t even have the time to think about herself and how she felt. She was on automatic drive from the moment she woke to the moment her head returned to the pillow. So when one day, she just stopped, she couldn’t do anything but burst into tears. Unexpected, uncontrollably heavy sobs burst out from her. One of her work colleagues tried to console her but Geena couldn’t speak, she didn’t even know why she was so emotional.

“Y’know Geena, you’re not a robot” uttered her colleague

And right then, Geena realised that life had to change. That she didn’t feel fulfilled anymore.

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