Glimpse
A memory:
Crossing a vast suburban desert. A five-year old Rodney walks only on the yellow lines. If he doesn’t, quicksand will swallow him up, unless he runs very quickly. So, when he runs out of yellow, he speeds across asphalt to the next series of intersecting lines. His mother looks on indulgently. He does not know to savour these moments. In two months’ time, his mother will be dead, stabbed during an argument with the landlord.
At the far end of the parking lot, where the yellow lines and black quicksand emerge from the grass, an old woman sits at a makeshift flower stand. It is made out of thin slices of lumber and an assortment of cardboard boxes. Rodney wanders over, quicksand forgotten. He recognizes roses, tulips and daisies, but can’t put a name to the others.
The woman smiles, hopeful. “Would you like one?”
Rodney looks for his mother, who has remained in the empty spaces of the parking lot. She is talking to a man Rodney hasn’t seen before. Objects are passed from one to the other, their motions like sand, soft and fluid. Rodney concentrates on the petals of a light purple flower that’s red in the middle. Touches them. Looks worriedly towards the credit slot that sits atop the stand, making the cardboard boxes beneath it a glaring anachronism.
The woman follows his gaze across the stand. “No matter,” she says. “It’ll be our secret.”
Crossing a vast suburban desert. A five-year old Rodney walks only on the yellow lines. If he doesn’t, quicksand will swallow him up, unless he runs very quickly. So, when he runs out of yellow, he speeds across asphalt to the next series of intersecting lines. His mother looks on indulgently. He does not know to savour these moments. In two months’ time, his mother will be dead, stabbed during an argument with the landlord.
At the far end of the parking lot, where the yellow lines and black quicksand emerge from the grass, an old woman sits at a makeshift flower stand. It is made out of thin slices of lumber and an assortment of cardboard boxes. Rodney wanders over, quicksand forgotten. He recognizes roses, tulips and daisies, but can’t put a name to the others.
The woman smiles, hopeful. “Would you like one?”
Rodney looks for his mother, who has remained in the empty spaces of the parking lot. She is talking to a man Rodney hasn’t seen before. Objects are passed from one to the other, their motions like sand, soft and fluid. Rodney concentrates on the petals of a light purple flower that’s red in the middle. Touches them. Looks worriedly towards the credit slot that sits atop the stand, making the cardboard boxes beneath it a glaring anachronism.
The woman follows his gaze across the stand. “No matter,” she says. “It’ll be our secret.”
4 Comments:
Very nice! I like the little details. It's what makes of breaks a tale.
Oh, Cavan. I just love your writing. From the first moment I laid my eyes on Between Eternities, I knew I liked your writing.
This is an amazing piece.
I always sucked at flash so it truly amazes me when so few words can pack so much in them.
What are you waiting for? Send it somewhere. Or, I guess it is published now. Here.
(I hope you know I'm not just giving you a 'nice' comment for commenting sake).
Thanks guys.
Melly - Actually, this isn't a standalone. It's an excerpt from the second chapter of Glistening Edges and Right Angles.
Well, it could be standalone then :)
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