In my Creative Writing class we learned about micro-fiction or “flash” fiction, a genre that takes the “short” in short story very seriously. Micro-fiction really challenges a writer to get his or her point across quickly and creatively. Every word counts. It’s much like poetry, except it’s prose! So, last month I featured Raven’s story. This month I’m featuring my two boys–there’s only two of them in the class–and they each did a great job with this assignment. First, “She’s Like a Wack-A-Mole Game by Thierry Lundy
Everything was fine between her and I, until she started to give me trouble. Like a psychiatrist, I tried my best to help her resolve her issues, but this was a frustrating and expensive task. She became too much like a wack-a-mole game. It seemed like as soon as I would knock one issue out, another would pop up. This led to constant visits to the store to buy her things to make her feel better.
Sometimes, I would be overcome with gladness as we rode through the city together. I would not hear one peep from her. To me, this was a sign that she was healed. Filled with hope, I would say to myself, “Maybe she has overcome the wack-a-mole syndrome.” Then on day this hope of mine quickly vanished. While riding down the street with her, another mole popped up. It was a big mole. Her brakes went out.
She was my first car, a Ford Tempo. She was my own personal wack-a-mole game.
Next is Cory Jackson. He’s kind of a quiet force in the room, but he has a way with words. Since he didn’t have a title for this piece, I’ve chosen to call it “DECISIONS, DECISIONS”
Staring into space, it seemed I watched him contemplate every decision he’s ever made. His rights, his wrongs, the right things he’s left and the things he’s left that he knew was right. Puzzled, but yet still determined to figure out the solution in this life and death situation. As we both stood there aimlessly, I mumbled, “Just pick”.
With a sarcastic smirk he replied, “I can’t, it’s not that easy.”
“What do you mean it’s not that easy? Either pick the right one or the left one, you can’t go wrong with either one.”
“If only it was that simple” he quickly responded.
“Well, it is, so pick or I’ll choose for you.”
“Fine!” he stated, annoyed at the fact that I was rushing him to reach a conclusion, he gracefully stretched out his hand as if he knew all along which one he wanted, then swiftly pulled it back. “Can’t I get both?”
“Absolutely not!” I responded. “Either pick or we can leave.”
Disappointed, he laughed it off. “Ok fine, I’ll go with the Kyrie 2’s rather than the Kyrie 3’s.
“Alright grab them so I can pay.”
As he grabbed the shoes of his choosing, filled with excitement, relieved his hard work of decision-making had finally payed off, I watched as my younger brother made eye connect with the beautiful patent leather on the Jordan 11’s. Noticing, I quickly shouted, “Don’t you do this!”
Standing there in a daze he looked at me and said, “But what about these?”
I sighed and sat back down. “Just pick.” In that moment I was reminded of the trouble with being a 16 year old boy.
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