This week’s flash fiction challenge was to write a story in four parts based on the seasons, limited by around 100 words a section. 1 I’ve been chipping away at a speculative fiction novel, so this was a welcome practice in movement oriented (but still sensory) detail.
Winter
A woman without any prospects was a sight to behold. She burned like a furnace, grateful for the chill of the air against her blotchy cheeks. Liv was never one to bow gracefully out, and her box of desk tchotchkes shoved haphazardly together meant several of the figurines didn’t escape unharmed from Barnaby’s Pets. Struggling in vain to grab her keys out of her jacket pocket, Liv cursed and crumpled to the concrete in a guttural yelp, the box forgotten next to her rust-seamed ‘97 Toyota Camry. Liv, always one to savor old things, couldn’t help feeling tossed out like expired bags of dog chow.
Spring
Before she could bury another month in puffed snacks and streamed episodes, Liv powered up her laptop and dragged open “2025 Resume.” She hesitated, scrolling through the job boards as birds desperately called to one another for company outside her apartment window. The weather outside was infuriatingly beautiful, new buds expectantly bursting from soil still glittering with the last of February’s sheens of ice. She glanced at herself in the glare of her window: new lines bursting at her temples, worry sprouting between her brows. She willed herself to break through, petal and pistil, rather than wither away.
Summer
Sweat moistened her brow as Liv’s oxfords echoed across the gleaming hallway, joining the school of workers decked out in smart casual. She half expected her card to deny her entry at the gate, but the entry blared green, the front desk guard nodding boredly. Liv clutched her lanyard through the glass elevator, her eyes drawn to the manicured lawns outside, dappled in the unforgiving sun. Everything was transparent at Livingston Corps, and she felt aquarium bound, a goldfish locked into place by thick glass walls. Salaried and insured, why did Liv still feel unsettled, a kept pet?
Fall
As chlorophyll unmasked the leaves’ autumnal colors on the sidewalk, Liv too revealed her true self. Once shining with fake smiles and artificially sweet comments, she ventured the questions that once got her sacked at Barnaby’s. Her coworkers didn’t balk, offering inquiries of their own until the conversation grew crisp and nuanced around them. Liv relaxed, letting their words drift and fall around her, a blanket. It never occurred to her how in her element she could feel, how she could strip away her mask and still be seen as whole. What a wonder is, she mused, to still rise.
This is one of many prompts from John Gillard’s The Very Short Story Starter. This isn’t an affiliate link — I simply find the prompts helpful.