Below is an excerpt from a short fiction story titled “Red Tape” which I am working on for the collection Augury.
Sharing it here after having discovered @Story_Craft on Twitter this week. They host #storycraft which is a weekly chat on Sundays about the craft of writing fiction. You can check them out here. Their May 9th, 2010 Flash Fiction Challenge, which I took upon myself to push “Red Tape” along, was as follows: Tell a story in 300-500 words of dialogue. Tags and action description are okay, but no exposition! Wordcount: 300-500.
Thanks,
~a.q.s.
Note: It did not make the challenge because it has to be a stand alone story. But I will leave it here thanks to the comments and feedback. Much appreciated.
“He says ‘shut up’ to me.”
“That’s why you are getting a divorce?”
“Sure.”
“Did he ever…hit you?”
“He thought about it.”
“What do you mean ‘he thought about it’? Did he tell you so?”
“Yes. Once.”
“Whatdidhesay?”
“‘Sometimes I feel like suffocating you—putting my hand over your mouth so damn hard that you would just shut up. Just shut up.’”
There was silence.
“Are you two ready for your check?” asked the waitress who had been wishing to get out of her shift as soon as she had walked into the restaurant that particular day.
“I’ll have one more cup of coffee,” said Tulsi into space, and upon sudden realization that she had spoken aloud added, “Pleasethankyou.”
“I am fine,” said Elizabeth, “and check would be great.”
“So,” Elizabeth stopped—cleared her throat—“he never actually did do that?”
“Do what?”
“You know. That suffocate thing,” Elizabeth could not bring herself to say the word ‘hit’ again.
“No.”
“Coffee,” the waitress spoke softly and placed the red ceramic cup and plate in front of Tulsi. The extra large clock hanging on the diner wall clicked to an exact 12:30 a.m. Thirty more minutes before the waitress could call it a day and go home to a small studio which was occupied by paper notebooks, magazines, flyers, business cards, coupons and more coupons, and an over flowing trash can that should have been taken out two days ago.
“He once told me our love was like dark coffee.”
Elizabeth looked at her friend attentively.
“And I added, ‘yeah all black, no cream, and definitely no sugar.’ That upset him. I had wished it would but I couldn’t be certain it had.”
“Honey, think of it this way: you two were only married for seven years—no children—you are 35—you have your entire life ahead of you.”
“He had said ‘shut up’ so many times before, you know? Many times. But this last time, I was drunk, crying, begging him to hold me, to forget the fight we had had in the morning, and just sobbing next to him in bed. He just rolled over. I told him what I would usually tell him, ‘You don’t really love me like you should. How can someone see or hear someone they love cry and not respond.’ He didn’t say anything back as usual. I told him we would end up getting a divorce in a year if he kept up this way. He finally responded shut up. He didn’t scream it. He just said shut up. Like a chant you don’t understand but you know it sounds like a fundamental making of something bigger. Barely audible. Shut up. Soft. Like one says shhooo to a cat. I didn’t sleep that night. At some time I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up I found the bed empty—he had gone jogging. I guess a year went by in that one night.”
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Two words, “shut up”, that immediately sound rude and inconsiderate, yet are so much more, to the point of invalidating us an human beings, taking our voice, ignoring our thoughts and feelings, so often such words are the beginning of the end.
agreed global patriot…that’s why “shut up” was a bad word in my home growing up.
this is great stuff annie
Hi Annie, this reads smoothly, effortlessly. I like the awkwardness introduced by the waitress as well, nice timing.
Great story Annie, all in such few words:)
Those two words – so small, so monosyllabic – have a power in them to devastate when paired.
What a lovely way to describe the relationship. Black coffee, no milk, and – especially – no sugar.
Excellent, Annie.