This is my first attempt at writing #flashfiction and short fiction in general, and I have tried to take into account something I learnt this week, which were the 5 stages of short fiction: Anticipation, Dream, Frustration, Nightmare & Goal. I’m not sure I achieved this in the couple of hours I gave to writing it, but I had fun trying.

The apple hung, shiny in the sunlight, swaying slightly and tempting him more. It was just out of his reach, but the boy was sure that he could grab it. His hunger had drawn him to the orchard, but he’d never had the strength to climb the privet hedge before; his limbs were still tingling from the elation of reaching the top for the first time. At over four times his own height, he knew that to climb to the top, with only a few bleeding scratches as proof, was a grand achievement and he felt very proud. The hedge was prickly and it was hard to get a good footing. He had wedged himself into a tight spot, supported by foliage below and behind and he sat, listening, for the soft thrum thrum of the lawnmower again. He had sat long enough to know that when the gardener reached the edge of the lawn below and did his regimented about turn that he had a good ten minutes in which to grab a fistful of apples and slide, choppily, back down to the ground. As he sat, his stomach rumbled, and he stared longingly at the apple that hung barely six feet before him. He could imagine the sound of the crunch as his teeth broke its surface, the cool rush of the sweet juice as it ran into his mouth. But, as he stood to steady himself, ready to stretch and reach for his golden prize, he stumbled.

The hedge shook violently from the push and pull of a tall, barking dog and the boy fell back, but held on tightly. Stupid dog, he thought. First the gardener, now a dog. Tasting his apple was seeming less and less likely by the minute and he huffed as he settled back into the foliage and crossed his arms in anger. As he grumbled to himself, he felt a warm breeze fluttering against his bare arms and saw that the branches of the apple tree swayed in a calm, gentle manner. His apple bobbed also and he held his breath for fear it may loosen and fall to the ground. The dog had also calmed and was sniffing around the foot of the tree and, as he watched, it cocked its leg, barked and then bounded away. He had another chance.

Standing to steady himself again and, without any careful thought, the boy snatched at the tree branch ahead of him. As his hand grasped around its gnarly bark, he felt the breeze again, a little stronger this time, and his body shook as the hedge and the tree bounced lightly beneath him. He tightened his grip and felt the length of his body stretch, his toes still barely resting against the top of the privet, and for the space of three seconds he thought he had got away with it. He began to regain his balance, but then the wind blew stronger again and, with his free arm wind-milling, the boy’s feet fell away from the hedge.

He hung from the branch, his arm beginning to ache and his fingers beginning to slide. He tried to gain some momentum with his lower body and swing inwards towards the trunk of the tree, reaching out with the tip of his toes, but the trunk was too far away to touch. He tried again, and again a third time, and then he heard a tiny crack, followed by a rousing snap and, in mid-swing, the branch in his hand broke away from the tree. As he fell, he reached to grab at anything anchored, but the fall was too quick and his flailing hands only worked to create an avalanche of airborne apples instead. The thud, as he hit the ground, hurt his ears and he lay, splattered and shaken and severely sore. He did not move. His body felt bruised and his head slightly dazed, but the grass felt nice and cool on his face. The sun warmed his skin as he lay, like a starfish, and he listened to the chirping of nature around him. He had closed his eyes at the point of impact and they remained closed now as his mind tried to break free from the shock. But then the dog barked behind him again and his eyes opened, wide.

He turned his head and saw the dog bounding and loping and heading towards him. Its tongue hung loosely from the side of its mouth and it barked and barked and barked as it ran. The boy knew that if he tried to run, the dog would just run faster and catch him, so he reached out his arm and picked up one of the fallen apples. Bringing it back to his mouth, he chomped, juice running out and down the side of his mouth, then he threw it as far away as he could and, immediately, the dog changed direction. The boy sighed with relief. Reaching out, he picked up another apple and this time he chomped until he reached the core, and he savoured every little piece. He ate a second one and, as his stomach digested it hastily, it began to rumble once more.

He moved to try and sit up straight, but was knocked back down by the paws of the dog as it stood, tall and proud, above him; the retrieved soggy apple held tight between its jaws. The boy giggled and took the apple from the dog’s mouth, squirming as its hot smelly breath overpowered him. Then he squealed as a long wet tongue began to lick and clean his face and, as he hauled the apple away again, the dog went, barking and loping, to fetch it for a second time. Sensing his moment, the boy stood and gathered all the apples that he could carry, then ran towards the orchard gate. With a smile on his face for his marvellous luck, he pulled the latch and hurried free. He left the bark of the dog behind as he ran away, carefree, through the wide, open and sun-bleached field.

12 March 2010
(c) ej.james. All Rights Reserved.