On Flash Fiction

So, I've been thinking for a while that I really ought to develop my prose writing a bit more, as well as my control of language. In the midst of these thoughts, I discovered that I really enjoy the challenge of writing flash fiction: a short story usually of somewhere from 100 to 300 words, maybe 500 at the most. I really like the 200 word mark. Creating a story and characters with so brief a space can be a lot of fun, and it leaves a lot to be created by the reader as well. The genre is also really appealing to our instant-info culture that might not want to take the time to read a fifteen page short story, but can stomach a page's worth of story. I started writing some, and I'm thinking that if I can write a bunch of them over the summer and maybe start another blog posting them in instalments. Here's one of the first that I wrote, inspired by a scene in an Oxford street.

Hold

The alley was wide, but few people used it. It may have been because the tall stone buildings on either side kept out the sun most of the day except for around 12 o'clock. That’s where they stood, surrounded by murky shadows while strangers passed by on either end of the manmade ravine.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He bowed his head to look at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Are you sure?”

She nodded slowly.

A breath of wind wound its way down the alley and swept up a few of her golden hairs, coaxing them to flutter before her face and land on her moist lips. His dark, gentle hand brushed those strands aside, tucking them behind her ear and letting his palm rest for just a moment on her warm cheek. She might have been blushing, but the half-light around them made her almost expressionless face appear more serene than he had ever seen it.

He felt her jaw tighten.

“Come on. We should be going.”

Her heels clicked on the cement footpath as she walked. But he lingered ever so briefly, saying goodbye to the air where her perfume and his hand still hung.