Flash Fiction
By Manja Mary Argue


Flash fiction is a complete short story of from 300 to 1,000 words. Because of the brevity, the choice of words used is very important. The stories that I write that fall into this category usually are about 500 words. I don't plan it that way, it just happens. 

-MMA



Twenty-Five Cents

Bill left the hospital in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where his little girl, Mary, had just been born. As he walked home through the rain he saw a shiny new quarter in a puddle and he picked it up. As he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger he noted the date on it, 1937. "A good omen," he said aloud to himself, "Just minted this year." He stopped at the little corner store to buy some milk for his other kids at home. Carl, the store owner, put the quarter in the cigar box that he used instead of a cash register, which he couldn't afford. Later his wife, Lida, counted the money and took it to the bank. Susan, the teller put the bright new twenty-five-cent piece in a wrapper with others and sent it to the vault, where it resided for several weeks before being given to Joe, the clerk from the 5 and 10 cent store so they would have change for the day. At that store the Larson family, who were passing through town on their way to California looking for work, received the quarter in change after buying a screwdriver. Th
us the quarter traveled along Highway 66, and somewhere in Arizona it changed hands again at a gas station but was soon in the hands of another family, the Hogans, traveling west for the same reason. In Bakersfield the Hogans used their last few coins to buy some food and the store owner, Horace, took it home. There he gave it to his son, Larry, as his allowance for taking out the trash. Larry put it in his piggy bank as he hoped someday to buy a bicycle and have a paper route. A couple of years later the quarter, with many others, was paid to Tom at the bike store. That night Tom's wife, Bettie, was counting the money at the kitchen table when the cat jumped up onto the small pile of cash and sent the coins rolling all over the floor. The 1937 quarter lodged itself under the old cast iron stove and was not seen in the light of day for many years. After Tom and Bettie had died and the house had been deserted and was finally slated for demolition to make way for a new freeway, Jack, an antique dealer in old st
oves, came to pick up the stove and found the quarter. For several years the coin traveled from pocket to pocket and from town to town until one day it was in a shipment of coins purchased by a company that was making up souvenir packets of coins. They advertised these packets in magazines and on TV, and one was bought by a woman named Anne. This packet was made up of a penny, nickel, dime and a quarter all minted in 1937. She gave it as a 50th birthday gift to her sister, Mary, who had been born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in 1937. When Mary opened the gift she said aloud to herself, "Minted in 1937, a good omen," and she walked through the rain to the bank and placed this gift in her safe deposit box with her other keepsakes.



What Sadie Saw

Sadie saw the snake coiled up next to her brother, Tom, who was lying on the path next to the creek. "Tom, Tom," she called, but Tom did not answer. She turned and began to run. 

She ran along the creek but did not see the beaver swimming in the water or see the ripples his smooth body made as he moved effortlessly through the cold stream, nor did she see him climb onto a rock where he proceeded to stretch out in the sun. 

She ran across the little wooden bridge that her father and Tom had built several years ago. She did not see the rotting planks nor hear her shoes clomping as they sped to the other side. She did not see the small mound her feet flew over that was teeming with ants or the blue bird that had just landed on a branch above her head. 

She ran, her lungs burning her chest with searing pain, and did not see the leaves wafting slowly down to alight on the ground where her pounding feet had just passed, their green and golden bodies mingling with the earth. Her legs trembled with fatigue as she climbed over a fallen tree, so she did not see the furry blurs of moles as they popped back into their holes or the small fox in the bush whose hungry eyes shifted from them to her as she flew by. 

She ran until the woods receded behind her and she was soon across the meadow, where she did not see the apple tree laden with fruit nor did she stop to fill her pockets or grab one to eat like she usually did. She did not see the cows that stopped munching on grass long enough to observe her swift passage and then went back to their daily task. 

She crossed the meadow to the road, where she turned right. She did not see the rabbit that streaked across the road in front of her, nor did she see the dog that followed a second later just after she had passed by. She ran as tears scorched her cheeks and her breath came in loud, painful gulps. She turned right again and ran the last 100 yards to the front of her home, to the oak tree under which sat a group of women shelling peas. She did not see them, did not see them turn in her direction, did not hear them call her name. She saw only one face, the face of her grandma. Sadie ran to her and threw herself toward her. "Mamaw," she grasped, "Snake, snake, Tom oh Tom."

She collapsed into her grandma's arms and buried her face in her bosom. She did not see the horror in her grandmother's face as it turned to look back in the direction that she had come. She did not see the advent of grief in her grandmother's eyes.