One of Four
She stood with her sisters, pretty maids in a row, felt cold despite the scorching spring sun. Heard what the man said but didn't register; words from the Lord flew around her like the flighty trill of the robins up above. The birds made more sense.
First handful of dirt: Mother. She knew it was her turn next but could not move, frozen by the burning house, same as the night it crumbled. Everything gone, ashes to dust to thousands of trickling mudslides when the cruel rain came the following day. That was three days ago. Now she felt the elemental world closing in: earth swallowing the dead, sky wailing a dirge, water washing ashes, fire burning her heart. She laughed. Panic? Fear? Was the Lord's message funny? Or was it the preacher's rubbery voice, or the absurdly matching Franklin twins? The wide white collar on Hillary Burch's velvet dress, her tightly wound curls? The acrid stench of spring, the crocus pushing up beside the blacked smudge that was her home?
The father they just buried was gone forever (never mind what the preacher said) -- burned up swallowed down washed away. What she knew: life would be drab without his ear-splitting laugh and crushing hugs. What she didn't know: four women would weave in and out of each other's lives for seventy years more, disconnected by geography but writing the same story in four parts, a grey sorrow filled in with colors of strength and love and beauty.
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Author's Note
Flash fiction. Trying to find my groove here. Glad to become a part of this community of writers.
Other stories by Michelle Elvy
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I like this, the intimations that tell us what's going on. The last paragraph sounding like a cover blurb of a novel that opens the story up to more. There's a great thread of wonder and change in the story and an accurate handle on the conflict of the emotions of death. Nice.
Great lead in, powerful story. Love it.
you've created this moment with care and intention - vry impressed by the depth through detail.
well done!
Thanks for the encouragement, Susan, Jack, Julie, Tim! I'm looking forward to digging in here at Fictionaut. Also, I welcome any critique/suggestions -- Jack, you are welcome to send yours here or in email. Very much appreciated!
beautiful, poetic language. The last line before the last paragraph setting up the end perfectly, crocus emerging from the char....an expertly woven tapestry...fine work
Thanks so much, Doug, working on juxtaposing images, one leading to another... I have been absent for a while but am back now, hope to become more interactive here soon...
Very well written, Michelle, powerful(you and the story) and the last sentence - breathtaking!
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This is powerful, and lovely, and I can see those sisters, pretty maids in a row.
"She stood with her sisters, petty maids in a row" - an early f'naut one I missed commenting on, but remembered as soon as I read the first line. Something about it that just invites the reader to continue, and obviously stayed with me. Such a simple line, really, but a great way to start a story, the rest living up to that line. I must have been impressed back then, I still am, moreso that you got something to stick in this noggin of slippery neurons.
I saw you said something somewhere once like: people being a unique sum of their memories and experiences and your goal is to express their voice. You do it here, glad we all have heard so much more of that voice.
This is beautiful. This line particularly enchants: "The birds made more sense."