Colors

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This is a short piece of about 1000 words that I wrote more than a year ago. It is also the only piece of creative writing I ever did in the course of my studies at the University of Vienna (which, to be honest, is a shame). Our professor asked us to pick a song and transform it into a story. Back then, I had “Colors” by Halsey stuck in my head. I loved the lyrics and the melody and both gave me a clear picture of what kind of story I wanted to write. Please find the story below! 


 

Colors

Dim afternoon sunlight trickled through the cracked shutters, casting bright spots on the bed. He was lying on his back, head resting on a tattered pillow. I let my eyes drift over his bare chest, pale skin stretched over jutting bones and ribs. His jawline was dotted with black stubble.

“I’m sure he loves you. After all, he’s your brother,” I told him as I snatched the half-finished joint from his fingers.

He watched me take a drag and exhale the smoke into the air. We hadn’t opened a window in hours and it was beginning to smell badly, a mixture of weed and used bedsheets.

He scratched his chin. “My family was never the loving kind. Mother was only interested in her career. I doubt she ever realized there was a life waiting for her behind the cameras.”

I lifted the joint to my lips a second time, but he yanked it out of my hand, placing it between his own lips. He inhaled deeply, filling his body with the substance. In these short moments, when his entire being was soothed by the drug, he looked completely blissful. Broken as he was, there was still beauty in him. His eyes, even though red-rimmed, were a clear blue, like one of those marbles that I had collected as a child.

“You’re staring at me again,” he said.

Continue reading “Colors”

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Flash Fiction 2018 – February

After a minor delay of only a couple of months, I can finally post this little piece of work. Even though I did write it in February, it took me until today to gather all my strength to finalize it. You know, writing a story can be so easy, the hard part is editing. Again I had help in the form of feedback provided by my lovely writers group. Please check out Jack’s and MT’s monthly flash fiction (click on the names to follow the links). And please find mine below. Enjoy!


Flash Fiction #02: F for Fedora

 

He would’ve wanted me to have it

I storm inside once the door opens.

“Where is it?”

My sister raises an eyebrow at me, softly closing the front door again. “Will you stop yelling? The kids are asleep.” She talks in the same hushed voice she’s adopted ever since the birth of her twins.

It drives me nuts. Even more so now. My hands clutch the handle of my bag. “Where is it?” I ask, my voice trembling. I don’t allow the tears to flow.

“Dana, what are you talking about?” My sister has one hand on her hip, her eyes judging me as they have had for years.

I grit my teeth. “His hat,” I say. “H-He would’ve wanted me to have it.”

My sister sighs and vanishes down the hall. When she returns she’s holding an old, tattered fedora.

Even among a thousand hats like that one, I would recognize my father’s. Nothing’s more familiar to me than all the stitches on that hat trying to hold it together.

“I just don’t get why you would make such a fuss about a dusty hat!” My sister hands it to me and I clutch it to my chest.

I cradle the hat like a baby. It still smells like him, musky and warm.

“You never understood.” I shoot my sister one last glare. Then I open the front door myself, step out and shut it with a bang.

Upstairs, the babies start crying.

Flash Fiction 2018 – January

For almost three years now, I have been part of the best writers group in the world: The Baked Potatoes. You might not have heard of them yet, but you will 😉 My fellow writers and friends Jack, Kathi, MT & Stef accompany me on that otherwise lonely road to become a successful writer.

Last year was a bit of a low for all of us (as you can see in the lack of blog posts). But this year we kicked off with lots of motivation. My friend MT had the genius idea that each of us writes a little piece of Flash Fiction each month. And each month we would choose a topic beginning with the same letter as that month.

Flash Fiction is super short. We agreed on a word range between 150-300 words. You can find my January piece below.  Also check out the entries by my friends Jack and MT!


Flash Fiction #01: J for Jealousy

 

I won’t be needing it where I am going

I stare out of the window and watch as they drive off in a fancy BMW. They are soon swallowed by the thick fog, heading back into the city. I grit my teeth.

They were selling my flat, they said. Because my stay here was too expensive, they said. But what they really meant was that I wasn’t going to need the flat anymore.

I wasn’t going home ever again.

Wrapping my arms tighter around my shivering body, I mutter words under my breath that I wasn’t allowed to say earlier.

“Ms. Patterson.” One of the nurses approaches me. “Would you like me to accompany you back to your room?”

“I’m good.” I turn away from the window. Maybe the fog will do me a favor and will hide an oncoming car that can smash that stupid BMW off the road.

My footsteps sound hollow on the linoleum floor as I walk down the bleak corridor.

They can keep my stupid BMW. And they can sell my stupid place. I couldn’t care less.

I step into my bleak room which has no curtains, no flowers, no pictures. It is hideous. When I lock the door behind me, a nurse immediately knocks onto it. They don’t like it when we do that. Go figure why they even put a lock on there.

“Ms. Patterson, please unlock the door!”

“Tell them that they can keep my stupid dog too!” I pull a vial out of my robe. There is a single white pill in it. My hands tremble as I unscrew the lid and take out the pill. “I won’t be needing it where I am going.”

It’s all gone now.

For all time

Here’s a little something that I wrote a while ago – I tried myself on some short fiction, free of any magical beings!

For all time

I met Roy shortly after waking up in hospital.

One late afternoon, after my family had left on my doctor’s order, I took a walk through the bleak corridors. My legs were still weak and one of the nurses offered me a wheelchair, but I refused. I fought my way to the common room, where I saw him standing on the balcony, smoking a cigarette.

Although it was a cold, rainy November day he was dressed in nothing more than a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. He wasn’t wearing any shoes either. He was tall and slender, his dark-brown hair ruffled by the wind, and I thought how beautiful and indestructible he seemed. Continue reading “For all time”