Flash Fiction

Download as docx, pdf, or txt
Download as docx, pdf, or txt
You are on page 1of 6

PROLOGUE

The 21st century literature doesn’t get out-of-style in terms of storytelling. From

longitudinal novels that are impossible to finish in one sitting, a quicker way of

conveying stories was introduced – the Flash Fiction.

Thomas in 2006 defined Flash Fiction as a form of a narrative story which is typically

under 1,000 words only. It focuses on a quite brief delivery of ideas and events in a small

space, without sacrificing accuracy and sense.

The mainline of Flash Fiction is to create a powerful story in a clear, concise, and

emphatical manner. It challenges the author to straighten the river flow, and the readers to

go with the current.

Although its counterpart, the short stories, has been famous over the past centuries,

Flash Fiction still got the opportunity to rise in the 21 st era due to the advent of online

publications feature short and consumable contents.

In this chapter, the author has originally made two examples of Flash Fiction 21 st

century literary genre. The examples are then divided into two categories, mainly the

Flashy, and the Flashiest. The Flashy piece is entitled, “La Lluvia”, while the Flashiest is

entitled, “Let it.”

Overall, Flash Fiction is still a developing genre of the 21 st century, in lined with its

precursors namely the Short Stories, Anecdotes, along others. However, the author was

still able to create 2 examples in order to prove that its not about the amount of words that

matter, but rather the weight of its meaning.


La lluvia

It was a dark and gloomy week. The cloud threatens the town with thunders and strikes.

Seems like it’s going to rain—a different kind of rain.

However, no rain, no thunder, none at all... can stop Philo’s desire to play. He is such a

tiny boy, who seizes the world as a big playground.

Philo craves playing like no one else. In particular, he enjoys playing so much that he

oftentimes gets scolded by his mother for playing all day long. He used to climb uphill,

then slide smoothly down the grassland, riding over a fallen coconut branch.

One day, after finishing his lunch at lightning speed (just like other kids), he decided to

hike uphill and slide. No companion doesn’t bother him, no friends, none at all. For, in

fact, Philo is playing, while waiting for someone else.

Philo slides up and down according to his own satisfaction. The itch of spiky grass has no

match to his itch of playing.

But no matter how alive Philo feels in playing, something is still missing. No matter how

wide his smiles were, tears suddenly dropped from his eyes—and he doesn’t know why.

The clock chimed 5:00 p.m., and church bells started to sway and ring. Still, Philo never

stopped playing; his heart, too, did not stop crying.


Ironic, isn’t it? That in times a boy who’s supposed to feel joy is being chewed in the

fangs of dismay.

As Philo slid down for the very last time, the surroundings went slow. He looked up at

the depressing sky as it cracked and started to drizzle. The drizzle turned into mist, and

mist into pouring rain.

The water washed the hill, covering the land with wetness. Raindrops then flowed over

Philo’s head, concealing his tears and deepest sadness.

Just in a matter of seconds, a loud scream was heard. It was Philo’s Mum, marching

fiercely while holding a single strand of broomstick in her right hand. She then went to

grab his naughty child, ordering him to go back home immediately.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you should not play while raining? What

could possibly happen to you if I am gone, Philo?" said she.

The pain delivers to all parts of Philo’s senses as her mother swats his back. A single

strand of broomstick feels sharper than a whole piece of broom. He totally knew it was

his fault, and (just like other kids), he cried out of guilt.

But no matter how aching the hits were, there was still something that completed him

inside. No matter how loud his groans were, a smile curled his lips—and he can’t explain

why.

Ironic, isn’t it? That in times a boy who’s supposed to feel pain was touched with a

strange smiling happiness.


Philo bolted and ran back home like a cheetah chasing a deer. He turned back to see his

Mum, feeling both pain and happiness as his Mum’s image slowly dissolved out of his

naked eye.

Finally, Philo went back home. Their house doesn’t seem to be normal or happy.

Dim candles light up the area, tables and chairs are arranged in rows, and playing cards

are stacked messily all over the place. There were traces of coffee stains circling the

wooden counters, white chrysanthemums decorated in every corner, and people cries like

there’s no more tomorrow.

It was the poster of “in loving memory” that pointed to the funeral. Philo then tiptoed to

see his Mum inside the coffin, feeling the emotions of an abandoned child.

“Mum, tomorrow, I’ll play in the fields again. Come see me there; punish me for

being naughty if it’s the only way to see you.” - said Philo.

It was still a dark and gloomy week. The cloud continues to threaten the town with

thunder strikes. But now, it is raining – a different kind of rain. Alone. Painful. But so

loving.
Let it
I got a jigsaw puzzle from Shoppe. It was composed of 1,000 broken pieces,

waiting to condense an image of countryside.

Tedious and weary it is looking for a missing part among thousand.

Apparently, it seems impossible to do so.

Hence, I decided to never waste my sweat trying to see the unseen and to

seek the unfound. Determined was I, that no missing part shall hinder me

from my undertaking.

I continued completing the process, unbothered of any blank parts. Then, as

to my surprise, all missing pieces spontaneously appeared like a mushroom

along the sweet process.

Therefore, is the call: "Don't look and you will see; never seek and you shall

find."

Remember, your missing parts doesn't make you any less. Just enjoy the

process, for all that's meant will come in time.

Darling, I'm not talking about the puzzle - this is about LIFE.

Let it.

You might also like