A sample of flash fiction where the objective was to give the impression of a life in under 500 words.
And
it Slips Away
By
Eric Kaufman
Bits of skin curled and peeled up
from the tip of his sun burnt nose. He scratched at it unconsciously
as he scanned the waves from shore. His mother had told him that new
skin grows back each year after shedding the old layer, and this
helped him imagine that any possible cancerous cells had already been
purged. He was an old man now and had lost faith in some of his
mother’s wisdoms. But he never lost faith in beaches, and had spent
a lifetime getting to know them.
His arms were soft and could no
longer pull him along in the water as they used to. Now he could do
little more than sit on the sand and stare out at the new talented
young surfers in the water. He looked at them, but he didn’t see
them. He only saw himself, surfing in his memories. Each day he
walked down to the beach and looked out at the ocean which had
become, for him, a mirror reflecting his past. In his old age he had
even more reason to worship the ocean than he did in his youth.
He saw his first surfboard. It was
much too large for him as a shortboard, and too small as a longboard.
His father, who was always encouraging, had brought him to the beach
near their house to give it a try. The fast breaking waves were only
suited to body boarders. Neither knew the difference at the time, but
this wave was impossible for learning to surf. One after another he
paddled into waves much too steep and fast, freefell with his board,
and was hammered into the ocean floor. The lifeguard must have had a
chuckle to himself before running over and shoeing him out of the
water. “Strands is for body boarding only. Try Salt Creek, you’ll
have an easier time.”
Young girls walking past distracted
him from his memory, but only for an instant. He didn’t see the
g-string bathing suits, but the cut and fashion that women wore when
he was a young man. He brought himself back to when he had laid eyes
on his wife for the first time. Of course he had met her at the
beach. Where else would he have met his wife? It was the only place
where he spent any time. But as he began following the trails leading
to memories of his wife, he shook and became confused. The lines
crossed in his mind, pulling him from one to another. This always
happened when his wife entered his thoughts, because invariably the
fond memories would make their way to the singular dark one – the
one where he was unable to save her life as she drowned at his feet,
hidden in the sandy shallows. Or was it a shark that took her, he
thought to himself. Or maybe she had just run off with another man.
The young surfers on their way in and
out of the water always spoke to him, and when he wouldn’t respond
or notice, they’d give him a gentle pat on the shoulder.
