It was early in the morning when Johnny opened the front door of his new house and stepped out for the first time to see where he was going to be living. It had been dark when he arrived with his father last night, from their farm in the hill country of Montana.

He was a strong strapping six-year-old farm boy and this was his first trip to a big city. The family had moved here from their farm because the dry seasons had wrecked their crops and they had to sell.

He was dumbfounded by what he saw as he stood in his new front yard – which was all cement. Every house as far as he could see down the street had a cement yard, and all of them looked exactly alike. He went back inside the house where his mother was finding places to put things away that the family had brought with them from the farm.

“Where are all the animals, and the bushes for the rabbits to hide in? They were my friends and now I’ve lost them and I have no friends.”

His mother explained to him that he now lived in a city not a farm, he would make new friends with the other children that live in the city.

“But the animals and all of the trees and bushes were my friends.” he said, and ran into his new bedroom, crying.

The next day he asked his mother if he could walk to the park she had told him about at the end of their street only two blocks away. She said there were trees and bushes in it, and that he might meet some other children to play with there. She told him he could go, but not to talk to any strangers that were adults, only to the children that he met.

Off he went excited about meeting new friends at the park. When he reached the park there was no one there. He had tears in his eyes again as he felt the starvation of loneliness creeping over him. He laid down on his back under a giant eucalyptus tree. Wiping the tears out of his eyes he looked up and saw the sunlight filtering through the leaves – hanging from the gently swaying branches – restlessly moving back and forth in the wind – he could hear the tree’s song as it was orchestrated by the wind – and watched the leaves as they moved like dancers on a stage to nature’s own orchestra.

“I hear you talking to me, Tree, do you want to be my friend? How long have you lived here? You’re so big I bet it’s been a long time. I’m new here.” The tree was still moving gently in the wind, so Johnny told it all about the farm he had lived on. After a while, the wind stopped and the tree settled into a quiet resting mode.

“I think you want to take a nap, Tree. Is it okay if I come back and talk to you every now and then? You’re the only friend I have now, but I promise even if I make other friends. I will still come and visit you.”

When Johnny got home, his mother had lunch ready for him and he said, “Thank you.” Picking up his sandwich he started to eat with the enthusiasm of a happy six-year old.

“You seem to be in a better mood today,” his mother said. “Tell me about the park.”

“I found a friend that lives there and I can visit him whenever I want.”

“Maybe he won’t be there the next time you go, so don’t be disappointed if he isn’t.”

“Oh! He’ll be there. True friends, just like daddy always told me, are the same everywhere – always there when you need them.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

649 words

There is a thing called “Flash Fiction” that is a written piece that tells a complete story in more than 600 words but less than 1200 words. This is not easy to do. This story is 750 words, and I’ll leave it up to you if you think it works or not.

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Kent opened his eyes when his alarm went off and looked up at the ceiling in his bedroom. Just like the rest of his life, it never changed.  Every morning it was, get up, go to the bathroom, brushed your teeth, make the coffee, and watch the news on TV, while you ate your oatmeal, to see who was killed in the world while you slept.

He put his oatmeal in the microwave oven, got dressed in his overalls, and sat down to eat his breakfast. His mind was blank. He had nothing to think about. He lived alone and never socialized because he was very hard of hearing and consequently he tried not to put himself into a position where he had to talk to people -he couldn’t understand them anyway. At work in the fields, digging potatoes or picking whatever was ripe to be picked at that particular time is where he spent most of his life.

He hurt all of the time. His back hurt, his knees hurt, he was too hot in the summer, and too cold in the winter, but he never complained, it was his life and he was lost in it, he saw no way out. He didn’t watch TV very much, the news depressed him and the other programs showed people being happy, and he couldn’t identify with them at all. They depressed him too.

His only dream was of being happy. “I wonder what it feels like to be happy.” He had no idea. It was his only wish, his only goal, to be happy at least once in his life before he died. He saw no chance of it ever happening – only more of the same, day after day, year after year.

He walked to work in the field. His old car had died a year or so ago. It was only two miles and he was still able to make it, but it did seem a lot longer than two miles, as he walked home after hours of bending, digging, and carrying the containers of goods to the trucks.

“If I could just be happy once, so I would know what it feels like, it would be so wonderful.” He had said so many times to himself, as he did the long walk home, anxious to take his pain pills so he could sleep, and be able to do it all over again the next day.

One day on the walk home. He stopped to buy some more aspirin at the store in the gas station and decided to spend a dollar on a lottery ticket. He had never done that before, he knew he would never win because he had never won anything in his life. So why waste the money, but he did it anyway.

It was two months later when he was eating his oatmeal in the morning, watching the news, when the commentator said that the person that won the lottery had not come forward yet, and they gave the numbers again and said that the ticket was bought in a gas station. Then they gave the name of the gas station. He jumped up. It was his station.

He ran around looking for the ticket and finally found it, and sure enough it was the winner. OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! I’M THE WINNER! – It’s wonderful – I actually won something. His whole body was shaking. He was crying, he couldn’t breathe. He was laughing. I’m happy. Oh my God! I’M HAPPY. I’ve won the lottery. This is fantastic.  He sat down in the chair, he was crying, he was laughing, HE WAS HAPPY.

It was a week later when the foreman wondered where Kent was, he hadn’t come to work for a few days and decided to check on him. Kent was never late, and had never missed a day at work before. He was a very dependable person.

When he reached Kent’s house, he found the door unlocked but nobody answered when he knocked, so he went inside, only to find Kent lying in his bed with a smile on his face. On the table next to the bed was a note.

The note said, “I have accomplished my life’s goal. My impossible dream to be happy before I died has come true. I now have experienced happiness beyond belief. I could never be this happy again. The money I have won would only cause me problems, rob me of my happiness, and I would lose this feeling. After careful consideration, I have made the choice to make my dream come true and die happy. “

There was a hole in his forehead from the 22 pistol, on the floor beside the bed.