Time for a new Flash Fiction. This month’s theme is “Fool”.
Madam Genevieve
It was little more than a tent, set off to the side of the carnival, away from the throngs of people. It bore only a small wooden sign, hung from a rusty pole, that squeaked eerily in the evening breeze. “Madam Genevieve’s Tarot Readings and Spiritual Guidance”.
Kayla pushed aside the heavy brocade curtain and peered in. The room was dim. It reeked of incense with the faint undertone of mildew. The walls were covered in the same heavy curtains that concealed the door and the floor was bare to the grass below. A small wooden table and two chairs were centered in the room, under an elaborate chandelier dripping with crystals and candles.
Kayla chuckled to herself and prepared to enjoy the show.
Madam Genevieve waited a full minute before swirling into the room. She was a riot of colors and textures, sensual and sleek. Her flowing skirt pooled and shimmered, and the bells aroundoptical communications her ankles chimed with each sinuous step she took.
“Come, my dear. Be seated” Madam Genevieve intoned. Her voice was deep and rich, full of mystery. “You seek answers, and I shall help you find that which you need to know. But remember this… you will not receive that which you do not require. Some things in our lives must remain a mystery for there to be any happiness and desire to continue pursuit.”
Kayla did her best not to roll her eyes. She moved to the table, stifling a cough as a wisp of incense assaulted her nose. The chair was no more comfortable than it looked, and Kayla shifted from side to side awkwardly.
Madam Genevieve sat down with a flourish and produced a pack of tarot cards. She pointed to a small fishbowl sitting empty on the side of the table. “The spirits require a small token of your willingness to believe before they will agree to help you in your quest.”
Kayla dug a few bills from her pocket and dropped them into the empty bowl.
“Good. Let us begin.” Madam Genevieve quickly cut the deck of cards and shuffled them together. She fanned them out across the table top, touching each card briefly and smiling to herself.
“You must clear your mind of everything but your one true question. If you do not have a question, then simply clear your mind and my spirits will reveal their will to you.”
Kayla nodded once to indicate that she was ready.
“Good. Good, my darling. Now, you must choose five cards. Run your hands over them and stop only when you feel the kiss of the spirit. You will know then that they have chosen the cards of your destiny.”
Kayla quickly pulled five cards from the deck and thrust them toward Madam Genevieve.
“Really? So quickly you felt the hand of my guides? You must have a strong future ahead of you. Let us see.”
With the swipe of a hand, Genevieve cleared the table of the remaining cards. She flipped each of Kayla’s cards face up and placed them in a straight line in the center of the table.
“I must now meditate on the meaning of these cards. I ask you for absolute silence while I begin to reveal the nature of your destiny.”
Kayla resisted the urge to drum her fingers on the table top as she waited for Madam Genevieve to open her eyes. Instead, she concentrated on peering into the dark corners of the tent.
Madam Genevieve did not open her eyes, but simply began to speak in a quiet, flat voice. “You have seen the heartache, my dear. That man just isn’t ready. You need to stop your pushing, he won’t change for you and he won’t make you happy until he finds his way. Too long you have already stayed, hoping for a new start. You are a fool. You must stand and walk away. Give him the chance to follow. If you are always pursuing him, then he must continue to retreat. Only when you stop and pursue yourself, will you find what you seek in him.”
Kayla blinked in surprise. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and stood on end. She didn’t understand everything Madam Genevieve had just said, but she certainly recognized Martin in those words.
“How could you possibly know that? And why didn’t you read my cards. Look, I pulled the five of Pentacles and the Hanged Man and the three of Swords, and whatever those other two cards are. What do they mean?”
Madam Genevieve simply shrugged. “I don’t know, my lovely one. Sometimes the spirits give me messages that are far more important than the cards you have pulled. You must go and reflect on what the spirit world has given you. They have been generous, and have blessed you with advice. I suggest you take it. Now, I must rest. Communicating with the great beyond is terribly taxing.” She stood abruptly and strode from the room.
Kayla sat quietly, staring at the cards still sitting in the center of the table. “I have indeed been a fool. I should never have come in here.” Kayla rose and started for the door, before remembering the money sitting in the fish bowl on the table. She quickly dug it back out and stalked from the room. She’d lost her desire for the circus. She was going home; back to Martin to give it all one more try.
This mini-flash comes in at a mere 419 words. The prompt was simply “March”. I specifically wanted to work on the feeling of the words, to create a flow and rhythm. Let me know how I did. 
Death March
There are exactly 514 steps between me and the end of my life. I know this because I’ve made the journey before. I’ve walked this path eleven times, once each month since my lover died. It is always the same. Only 514 steps until I must choose. This twelfth time, my choice will be different.
The moon is shining tonight. It is so bright that I can hardly bear to lift my eyes from the ground, yet even there its reflection twinkles back at me from the wet leaves on the path. It mocks me. I know this deep in my soul. The moon laughs merrily at the folly of the broken-hearted. It taunts with a keen-edged beam.
I watch my feet instead, counting each step. My bare toes sink into the mud, and the Earth holds me fast, begging me to travel no further. The force of grief is greater than the pull of the Mother and I break from the sucking ground.
I shed my jacket, determined to feel the moment. The bite of icy wind assaults my skin. It pushes me back, always back, toward the pain and endless solitude. I lean into it, fighting to gain ground against my bitter foe. This is my death march, and I will not be deterred tonight. With head lowered, I advance toward the enemy.
The air is changing. It is moist and clingy and filled with the stench of briny water. The ground falls away to a craggy bank. I hover on the edge of darkness while the chaos of the pounding waves taunts me. My journey has ended and my choice has begun.
Below, I see the torturous slide into his death. I feel the sharpness of the rocks as they tear into his skin. I hear the snap of breaking bones and I taste the agony of my lover’s last breath. One slip, one step, and my choice would be made.
I now know that tonight will not be different. My pilgrimage has been in vain. The pain below is somehow worse than that which haunts my days. Eleven times I have come to the same conclusion. Eleven times I have retreated, retraced 514 steps to the hell of daylight. I turn once more; ready to begin another journey home.
The icy wind must be tired of my constant indecision, for it gives one final thrust against my weary body. I slide quietly into the darkness; into my lover’s waiting arms. The choice has been made.
As you probably all know by now, I take part in a monthly Flash Fiction workshop. The theme for March was SchadenFreude (Please consult “The Google” if you aren’t familiar with the term). By definition, Flash Fiction is under 1000 words. I’m playing around with a new format… kind of a stream of speech.. all from one point of view. Let me know if it works.. or if you hate it.. LOL
Pageant Chatter
Look at that little tart up there, strutting her stuff like some street-walking tramp. I’m telling you, Cassie, she’s the one to beat. That dress alone could win the competition, all sequins and rhinestones. It’s fluffy in all the right places. Certainly hides that bubble-butt of hers. If the judges only knew what kind of junk she was carrying in that trunk, they disqualify her in a heartbeat. Alright, there she goes on her final walk, cross your fingers for a trip. Come on, just a little stumble, a wobble even. Damn, no such luck. Well, she still has to get through her speech and the talent section.
Did you talk to her before she went out? Psych her out a bit? I chatted her up over lunch. Playfully reminded her about that slip-up she had in the Georgia competition last month. You know, when she got tongue-tied and couldn’t remember that all she wanted was world-peace and a home for every puppy? A repeat performance of that little faux pas would put us in the running for the crown for sure.
Ah, don’t look at me like that. I don’t care if she is your best friend. This is war, child. You hope like hell she fails and trips up on that stage. You can console her later over hot cocoa and teddy bears. Right now, she is the enemy and you better hope she falls on her face if you want that pretty little crown.
Now, go fluff your hair, it needs to be bigger. No, bigger still. Damn it child; don’t brush out all the curls. You’ve spent the last forty minutes in curlers. Don’t undo all our hard work! Give me the brush. I swear you’d never win a single pageant if I wasn’t here to make you pretty. There, perfect pageant hair.
Here’s the tape. Try to give yourself some cleavage, then pad the hell out of your bra. We need to make you look like you have some kind of curves. I still can’t believe you are nearly flat-chested at twelve. I swear, when I was your age I already had curves in all the right places and I knew how to shake it like a champ. I won every pageant I entered. I was a champion. Damn your father, and those stick-straight genes he gave you. Well, at least you’ve got great legs. Look at those things, long and lean. The judges will be drooling by the time you get to the end of the runway, especially when you strap on the heels.
Don’t forget to put Vaseline on your teeth. I want those pearly whites to blind them when you shoot your mega-watt smile. Remember, not too big. I don’t want you looking like a horse out there.
OK, one last look. Yes, just perfect. Put on your heels and walk for me. We don’t have much time now. She’s just finishing her speech. Ha! Did you hear that? She just mispronounced one of the judge’s names. They’ll take points off for that. And she forgot to answer the second half of the question. Rookie mistake. I don’t know how she pulled off the crown in Florida last June. Pure luck, I tell you. Pure luck.
She’s grabbing her guitar now. If I have to hear that simpering warble of hers one more time I swear I’ll be sick. I mean, her voice is nice enough, but all of her songs are so sugary sweet. No need to worry this time, though. Mama came through on Operation Guitar String. I gave those strings a good tweaking. She’ll be singing the blues in a few moments. Oh! Goodness! I must have tightened them down more than I thought. Three strings just snapped. Wow! I’m better than I thought. Well, that concludes the talent portion of her show and puts a pretty little bow on our chances of winning.
Wait, here she comes. Oh, poor little baby is barely holding it together. Here come the tears. Let’s see if she can keep it together till she hits the curtain. No! I’ve got a better idea. Quick Cassie, run out to the side of the stage and give her a hug. Put on a big show of support for the poor little dear. Make sure the judges see you; they give extra points for compassion.
Perfectly played, my dear, perfectly played. Now, you’re next. Get out there and wow those judges. Bring home that crown for Mama.
Sometimes it really does hurt to be a mom. And I’m not talking about the actual moment of “becoming” a mom, when you are pushing out a 7lb baby. I’m talking about those moments in life when you know you can’t protect your child from a hurtful thing. Let me try to explain.
My youngest daughter was born with no sight in her left eye. She has a condition called “microphthalmia”. It literally means “little eye”. There is no known cause of it and it isn’t genetic. It just happens. At 3 weeks old, she went in for surgery. There was no hope of restoring vision as the back structures of the eye did not form properly, but they were able to fix some of the issues that were stopping her eye from growing.
I knew that her left eye would always be smaller than her right, but I didn’t know by how much (still don’t, as both eyes are continuing to grow). Children can be cruel, and I knew that she was probably going to be teased in school. I became determined to bring her up with as much self-esteem as possible. I had a bit of help in that department, because God blessed her with the most amazing personality I have ever witnessed. She literally lights up a room. You can’t help but smile when she engages you.
My daughter, at about 5 months old
We are now five years later. My baby with the “little eye” has grown into this amazing child with a will of steel. Through it all, there is one fear that has stayed with me - that one day she will look in the mirror and hate what she sees. Just typing that .. right now.. still makes my breath catch.
Just recently, I’ve had a glimpse of the future. Because she doesn’t wear her glasses to gymnastics, her little eye is quite visible. The other girls on the team told her that her little eye “twitches”… and now my sweet girl is feeling self-conscious. She stares into the mirror and tries to catch her little eye twitching. She asks me over and over, “is my little eye twitching right now?”.
How do you handle this? What can you say to a five year old? How can you build a wall of self-esteem that her peers won’t be able to break down? How can you make her see that she is so much more than just her “little eye”.
I did the only thing I could, for now. I reminded her that even though God gave her a little eye, He also gave her so many other amazing attributes. He blessed her with the ability to bring joy to every person she meets. He honored her with wit and charm and a quick-thinking brain to help her succeed. And, even with her little eye, He blessed her with beauty. Sure, her little eye is different from other people’s eyes, but it doesn’t lessen how beautiful she is.
My daughter at 5 years old