a flash fiction piece about moving and begonias🌼

I’m posting this because I can’t write. Not like I’m physically incapable of writing, but I am Very Stressed and cannot sit down at a computer without having waking nightmares about all the emails I haven’t answered yet.

I think that’s the most old person thing I’ve said in ages. Anyway, here’s a flash fiction piece I wrote back in May for a contest for Short Story Month. It’s not good, but if I ever liked any of my writing that would be in an alternate universe where fish ride bicycles.

begonias 🎈

An ad in the paper:

 House for rent. Two stories, soft brick. Unfurnished. Two bathrooms, two bedrooms.

What the ad didn’t mention:

An empty feeling in my stomach. A deflated balloon of a mistake, dragging behind me. Tension in my shoulders.  Red, bloodshot eyes.

                The moving truck pulled up to the house. The pots rang like bells, announcing our arrival.

“Help me with the roses.” Mom said. Might’ve been selfish of me, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay dozing in the air-conditioning, and do anything I could from being forced to go anywhere near her cacti collection.

“My legs are Wacky Waving Inflatable Tube Guys.  I can’t move.” I told her. She sighed and beckoned the moving men forward to help. I breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed back on the seat cushions.  Whenever I closed my eyes, a tornado flew around my head. I thought about what I had left behind. I thought about what Mom had packed for her move. (Plants. And me. In that order.) I thought about the things I wanted to tell Mom; and the things I had already had but she hadn’t heard.

I pinched myself to safeguard me from my emotions. I stepped onto the gray concrete sidewalk and slammed the door. My head reeled. The world spun around my eyeballs, and for a moment I thought, “It’s the Moving Tornado, come back to haunt me.” I promptly collapsed on the sidewalk. Something shattered. Flip-flops smacked against the ground.  I saw my mother leaning over me from far away. “You-you dropped your begonias.” I said dizzily. She pulled me up to a sitting position.

“You’re my daughter. Better I drop my begonias than you.” She said. 

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