Thanks to a newly formed facebook group, I'm going to get inspiration for Some Flash Fiction every week!!
So maybe I'll even post some of it. :)
Here's the one I did yesterday.
No, not again!
I cringed as I felt the sear of pain on my hand as another scar appeared.
But I hadn’t meant it! It just—slipped.
I examined the new mark across the back of my hand. It wasn’t my first, and surely wouldn’t be my last. I sighed as I ran my finger along the scar. This was the consequence of hateful words—a scar on my skin. I rolled over on my dusty mattress. At the end of the day, anything I had said that left an emotional scar on someone else would leave a literal scar on me.
Whether I meant it or not doesn’t matter. I said it. And now everyone can see what I’ve done.
There was only one thing I could do. I couldn’t make it go away, not once the words left my mouth; but I could make it fade. I had to go to the source—I had to confront him. I had to apologize.
But I can’t. I don’t want to.
I ran my fingers through my hair. I had spent hours working on our project. I did all the woodworking. I used the power tools. I got splinters all over my fingers and arms. All he had to do was paint it. He just needed to add the final touches; but he destroyed it. I still couldn’t imagine how it happened, but I knew one thing: we would fail the assignment.
I had every right to be upset.
He had come to me, arms trembling as he held the broken pieces of what had been a perfect scale model. He had glanced from my eyes to the pieces to the floor, embarrassed and speechless. My face had flushed, my pulse quickened, and my muscles clenched. That’s when it happened. I exploded. In that moment, I thought I hated him, and I made that clear.
But I don’t hate him.
I glanced at my new scar. It was larger and uglier than the rest. I had to apologize. I had to make this better. If not for my own self, for him. Because if my scar looked this bad, my words had hurt him even worse.