Although the Winter Olympics ended last week (Damn!!) and technically winter is drawing to its inevitable close, here in the San Juan’s, we’re going to be dealing with the inclement weather phenomenon for at least another two months. This I don’t mind since spring skiing on a blue-sky day happens to be one of my favorite activities. It also gives me a chance to explore a few more writing related subjects.

 

The whole phenomenon of Flash Fiction Short Stories fascinates me. Here you have a story that’s been reduced to its bare bones in terms of everything. Content, character development, dialogue, especially word count. All of it has to make sense for the reader too, and most of the back story either gets reduced, or even cut out. Here’s one I banged out this past week. Enjoy!!                                                                                                              Word Count: 1004

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Winning the

White Stuff Lottery

 

 

There are basically two types of people that want snow storms to happen. Those who like to play in it, and those who want it to occur for ulterior reasons. That second type also may include people who despise winter, but still want the storms to take place. Why the Hell would anyone in their right mind who hates the grey gloom of the dark months want a low-pressure front to blow through their area? Good question, and since I happen to be one of these folks who despises the stuff, I’ll do my best to answer that question for you. No promises though, since my answers might confuse you even more than they actually address this conundrum.

My name is Roger and I’m a student at an art school on the island of Manhattan, but live in northern New Jersey. This forces me to commute into the city each and every day to attend classes. Whenever it snows, everything changes, and like a lot of folks in different parts of this country, I despise it. Often referring to snow as “White Shit”, so my dream is to one day move lock-stock-and-barrel to a place like Florida or Arizona. Maybe L.A., so I can audition for that hemorrhoid commercial with the other 10 thousand aspiring thespians. These southern locales happen to be places where you can wear a T-shirt and shorts to attend that family Christmas party.

The only reason I showed up to the particular yuletide funfest I’m referring to was because my brother promised he’d say a few words in my defense with Dad. Try to apologize for my breaking that priceless Hapsburg Hofbrauhaus mug of our dear father (more like another dust-collecting artifact in his possession). Not my fault I dropped it since I got distracted while clearing the living room to practice my karate.

Unfortunately, talking to our patriarch in situations such as this has everyone seeing the steam as it comes shooting out of his ears and nostrils like an out of control geyser. This is sort of like sailing your trusty papier Mache sailboat smack dab into a raging hurricane. Maybe next time I’ll try to calm dad down first by telling the guy our hospital nursery mistakenly switched me at birth with another bundle of joy?

Getting back to my hatred of winter, that same brother thinks I’m happy for a variety of reasons, not just the simple fact that if the storm totally paralyzes the NYC tristate area, they end up canceling class and I get to sleep in. He’s right. That’s only one part of the reason I want it to snow.

Nathan casually walked into my room where I was coincidentally still lying in bed with the covers pulled up over my head. “How pathetic, happens every time the sky opens up and we get dumped on. The very next morning what are you doing but lying there with the radio turned up to maximum and hoping you hear those six sweet words.”

“What you talking about?”

“You know perfectly well; “Manhattan Creative Arts Academy classes cancelled.”

“You’re just jealous since a natural disaster would have to fall down upon us before they’d stop things at your school.”

“True, but I like to think that’s made us tougher than all you lightweights. The school administration doesn’t declare a school moratorium every time a snowflake looks like it’s about ready to fall out of the sky.”

“Your loss. Its Hell out there, isn’t it?”

“Let’s just put it this way, I probably wouldn’t consider going to the beach this afternoon. Lots of ice to deal with.”

“Good, then I’m pretty sure I can roll over and go back to sleep. Technically, I don’t even need to listen to the radio.”

“I’m thinking you don’t want to go to school for a variety of reasons. Snow storms are just a convenient excuse.”

“Ok, I’ll admit it, I’ve got various ulterior motives for not wanting to go to school today.”

“You willing to confess anything else in your defense, Mr. Simpson? Squeeze this pair of gloves on while you’re at it.”

“There’s a project that was due today, and I didn’t get very far into it.”

Nathan never has much of a problem gloating when he suspects he might be right. “I knew it.”

“We were supposed to get our proposal finished today so the review committee could look it over. Start setting the project up too, or at least get it partially started.”

“And you didn’t do anything, right?”

“No, I did write up the project proposal last night. That’s as far as I got though.”

“Nothing like waiting till five minutes before midnight to get off your duff. Or in this case, apparently you finally did sit down on your duff and do something.”

“Thankfully school being cancelled today has given me extra time to get the project started.”

“I’d say you’re luckier than a person finding that winning lottery ticket in their pants pocket, but what if they want the proposal itself on their desk this morning?”

“If that’s the case, then I’m screwed.”

“Could be Usain. All this snow and ice has resulted in the roads being a mess. Also makes them somewhat impassable too. Basically, you’re stuck here.”

“Damn.”

“Things aren’t so good after all.”

“Hadn’t thought about that.”

“Call the school and see if they’ll cut you a break.”

This forced me to get out of bed and urgently call so I could beg for mercy. I guess there are certain advantages to being one of those obsessive, anally-retentive, sicko types that likes to get things done.

 

At the breakfast nook; Nathan with his egg burrito, me with my usual bowl of Coco-Puffs:

“So, what’d they say?”

“I’ve got a guardian angel looking over my shoulder. They told me I can bring the proposal in tomorrow.”

I’m thoroughly convinced Nathan carries around a high degree of jealousy towards me. “What else is new?”