My micro-fiction piece this week is truly a taut little story coming in at a little over 200 words.
The prompt for the story came in an “Ask, Write, Repeat” workshop led by Nina Schuyler for Flash Fiction Magazine. She was discussing ways to make readers care and one of the eight methods was transgressions. Being prompted to write a sentence about a transgression, my mind immediately brought up someone reading another person’s diary. That sentence and prompt stuck with me, culminating in this piece.
I strive for authenticity in my writing and recognize my own experience may not translate to characters. In the novel that I am revising, the main character is a twenty-four year old female. I spent inordinate amounts of time trying to research idioms, cultural references and technology use for someone the age of my oldest grandchildren. This story also made me wonder if teens still write in diaries knowing that many of them can’t even write cursive anymore. It might have been more current to use text messages but that would have made the transgressions even deeper and apparent. So I stuck with a diary.
It was an accident. She would never violate her daughter’s privacy.
Rhoda had simply been changing the sheets when the diary feel to the floor. When she picked it up, she couldn’t help but admire the graceful swoops of her daughter’s handwriting. She was just closing the pages when a name jumped off the page.
Mr. Bridges. A man’s name. In fifteen year old Sonya’s diary. Who was Mr. Bridges?
Drawn in, she flipped pages to find that he was an English teacher who inspired her. Okay. But the name persisted. Mr. Bridges giving her praise, Mr. Bridges talking to her after class, Mr. Bridges telling her that she was sharp, that she was special. Her daughter’s words blazed with adolescent emotions. Her heart pounded against her ribs.
The pattern was familiar to Rhoda. She recognized it as easily as seeing her own face in a mirror. She knew what it meant, knew what she had to do. Finishing the sheets, she tucked the diary back from where it had fallen.
Kyle Bridges was finishing the last of his grading for the day when Rhoda entered the classroom. He greeted her with a smile. When she pulled out the gun, the smile evaporated.
If you liked this or had other reactions, please share in the comments.
I did not expect that ending. The time for talking never was. I got the sense that Rhoda had had her own experience of a Mr Bridges would do anything to protect her daughter from what happened to her.
I have mixed feelings about the violence. I did like the mom protecting her daughter (albeit maybe overdoing it a bit).
Love short stories!