Today marks a milestone for me. I have never written flash fiction. It isn’t a favorite genre of mine (if it can be called a genre) but I have read some that are quite exceptional. So I thought I’d try my hand at it. I believe I have succeeded. Is it a good story? Is it interesting? I find it difficult to judge. I can often tell which of my stories work and which don’t, but I’m a little out of my comfort zone here. So I’ll let you be the judge. Today, flash fiction. Now the only type of writing I have never attempted is a screenplay. Perhaps next year…

AN ORDINARY LIFE

They found her diary under her bed. Maybe it held some clue. Every day, every entry, was the same, the description of an ordinary life, what sounded to most of the cops like a peaceful life. A housewife’s life. On one page, she drew a copy of her college degree. She had a doctorate in chemistry, but according to the entry for that day, she used it only for not accidentally mixing acids and bases while cleaning. Another page contained a drawing of a drowning woman, but a complete search of her history showed a lack of tragedy. “An ordinary life”, they all agreed.

The husband stood in the corner, worried, unhappy, perplexed. She left no note, there was no sign of foul play, but she was gone. Her clothes were still there, her purse was on the dresser, she must have gone barefoot because no shoes were missing. A cup of tea on the table beside her knitting chair suggested she intended a normal afternoon.

The final page of her diary was from the night before. “I can’t take it. My life is nothing. I feel like I don’t exist anymore. Only he exists. I’m melting.”

The case was never solved; she was never found. The only thing that remained was a strange, unidentified puddle in front of her knitting chair. Her husband wiped it up with a paper towel and threw the towel in the trash.