Flash Fiction 2018 – May

Flash Fiction #05: M for Mocking

As the year 2018 draws to a close, I am looking at my various Flash Fiction pieces that I wrote throughout the year, but never edited. When I began writing in earnest four years ago, I never thought that there was so much more to it than putting pen to paper (figuratively speaking). I soon learned that editing and revising is just as important (if not more) and quite challenging. But it doesn’t matter that it took me half a year to sit down and actually edit this flash fiction piece; what matters is that I did edit it. So, without further ado, here it is: 


Mum, No. 

There’s one sentence that my Mum is particularly fond of: “Are you really going to wear that to school?” And she says exactly that as I walk into the kitchen in the morning to get some cereal.

I turn around to her. “What’s wrong with it?”

My mum sighs, shaking her head. “Honey,” she says, “why don’t you wear that nice dress I bought you?”

“Mum, no.” I empty some cereal into a bowl, then pour milk over it.

“Why not? You’d look so cute in it.”

I frown. “I’d look ridiculous. And this is much more comfortable.”

My mum eyes me sidelong, then grabs her purse. “You know, it’s not always about being comfortable,” she says. “Sometimes you need to dress a certain way.”

“Why?” I shovel a spoonful of cereal into my mouth.

“Because it shows others what kind of person you are.” She straightens her skirt, then picks the car keys off the table. “I’ll be home late tonight, but there’s food in the freezer.”

“Are you seeing that Gary guy again?”

My mum purses her lips. “His name is Garret.” She comes round the kitchen counter and pecks me on the cheek. I rub the spot with the back of my hand. “See you later, bug. And please change that sweater!”

“Sure!” I call after her. “Have fun with Gary!”

I finish my breakfast, walk into the hallway and stop in front of the mirror. The light here highlights my newest piece of clothing in all its glory. Every single sequin that shapes the mocking bird adorning my front. A beaded eye twinkles back at me.

“Sorry, mother,” I say, “but I am really going to wear that to school.”

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