This piece is an example of Flash Fiction.
This is part one of four of my “A Story Through Different Genres” series. Some like this one are a little shorter, while others are a little longer. Not too long though, I promise. I will have a new one coming out each week so you don’t have to wait too long for the end. If you like the story and/or concept please let me know and I will either continue the story or make “A Story Through Different Genres” a new part of my blog. I hope you enjoy.
As you age, your imagination gets cloudy. You notice the grittier things. The park you used to play soccer at, that day that, to you, was filled with laughter, the warmth of sun, and soft grass gripped between your fingers as you stand, ready for another round. Even falling didn’t hurt so much back then.
What you overlooked was the kissing foreign couple. Or the cigarette butts that littered every inch of the ground. You missed the cracked stones of the power box and the twitchy plants growing through such spots. Then you noticed the sign proudly proclaiming that this is UK Power Network property; accompanied by a “Danger of Death” symbol in big, yellow font.
You’re older still when you see the man lying under the tree. Something about the image making you look again. He’s slightly overweight, with dark skin, and once white sneakers that are smudged to grey. His pants are a dark grey, his shirt long sleeved and black. A proper English gentleman’s hat sits precariously from his sideways facing head. Upon closer inspection you notice the edge of a silken jacket peaking from underneath him. Beside his head there is a clear lighter, an empty thing of cigarettes, and a small octagon of a box, looking quite questionable in nature.
His parts don’t fit together. You wonder how that position is comfortable. How he doesn’t look like he’s sleeping at all, but something far graver. It makes you question the safety of your park, your childhood playground. About how, as you grow, as you look back, no aspect of this old haven fits.