Fiction Fragment Friday
I have been thinking a lot about flash fiction lately. Most of my Friday’s are actually a little long for what people think of as flash fiction, but for some reason I still aim for that 1,000-1,200 word goal and I do think sometimes it hurts the final work.
This week is one of the shortest Fiction Fragment Friday’s and I struggled with that. I found myself though with a scene that accomplished everything I wanted it to. If I added any more it would undercut the emotion or dilute the impact.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
The words often thought but never spoken, finally came out.
“I’m sorry,” she said and I knew even those few words hurt as I suspected even breathing did in that moment.
My wife lay on the couch broken with blood seeping through her bandages. Her superhero costume was spread out around the living room making a haphazard path to the bathroom. I suspected I would need to make another trip to the store for disinfectants and bleach to clean the blood in the bathroom.
“I saw the fight on the news,” I said in a tone colder than I knew I was capable of. I was compartmentalizing like I so often had to. Deal with the practical then break down later, that was my motto. I found myself rebandaging her poorly managed wounds like it was an automatic reflex. By that point I think it probably was.
“I saved the kids.”
In that moment something inside me broke. My compartments all collapsed, spilling their contents all together in one big emotional mess.
“Don’t you think I know that?” I was yelling and I couldn’t stop myself. The tears finally flowing. “You save everyone except yourself. Then I have to watch you come home like this. You get to feel like a hero while I feel like a monster for not wanting to see you get hurt.”
“You’re not a monster.”
“Our neighbors certainly think I am. They see your bruises and just assume I beat you.”
She looked away unable to meet my eyes while I focused on the bandages. Those I might be able to fix.