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  1. thirdwind

    thirdwind Contributing Member Contest Administrator Reviewer Contributor

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    Current Contest Flash Fiction Contest #43 -- Theme: Imaginary Friend

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Flash Fiction Contest' started by thirdwind, May 15, 2017.

    The theme for this contest, courtesy of @Lance Von Alden, is imaginary friend. You are free to interpret the theme however you wish, but please make sure your story takes the theme into account in some way.

    The entries can be no longer than 500 words. Please post the entries directly in this thread. All entries will automatically be anonymized by the system. The deadline for submission is May 31.

    Good luck to everyone who enters! Hopefully the info above covers everything, but if you have additional questions/comments, please post them here or PM me.
     
  2. Anonymizer

    Anonymizer Contributing Member

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    Helen (497)

    Yesterday I met my psychiatrist, her name is Helen. She doesn’t talk much, it’s mostly her patients that talk.

    I don’t consider myself disturbed i any way, but I have great problems with some of my friends. One thing that bothers me is the concept of trust. Do you trust your friends? Is trust a necessary quality of a friend. Can you have friends that you like very much but still not trust?

    During the years I have had several friends that i trusted completely, I really knew them, I could tell what they felt, what motivated them. And then at a turn of page, they do or say something that’s totally out of character. This sometimes causes me great problems.

    Probably, I‘m not a very good friend, I’m very intense in my relationship with some of my friends, I’m close to them for months, and then I suddenly just write them off. I can be rather cruel, when I have some new event going on, I simply don’t invite them.

    With some of them I maybe get a little bit too personal with, I mean, is it normal to think about the color of your friends underwear?

    In order to know my friends, do I need to know about their secret dreams they had when they were in high school?

    Sometimes I am a control-freak, how many ways can you serve a cup of coffee? Is it important in what order you place the cups, the plates, the spoons when you succumb a table? Still, when i see them doing it, I sometimes just have to have them do it the way I feel is correct.

    I also have problems with names, ever since I was a boy I have thought about names in a totally different way than most others. To others a name is something you have, something you have had since you were born. But to me a name is what I have chosen to call people, I give them names when they become my friends, that’s no problem as I usually give them their actual name. The problem is when I, in the middle of a relationship give them another name, then I often mix up their names.

    Another name problem is the fact that if I haven’t given them names it’s difficult to talk about them with my other friends.

    Helen (my psychiatrist) has said several times you can’t look into yourself.

    That is probably true. I have tried to think back in time, at what point did I start to choose friends that make a good team, when did I start to find friends that would be interesting to my other friends. I always want them to have a good time, even when I am just in the background, observing.

    I like Helen, she has been a character in two of my novels, she will be in my third as well, but I might give her a new name
     
  3. Anonymizer

    Anonymizer Contributing Member

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    Light (433)

    There's this unsightly mole on the left side of my face. I always regret it when I cut my hair too short to cover it, because all eyes will be drawn to it at first and will avoid me altogether after. But I digress. I know of people who succeed despite facial deformities —perhaps not as severe as my own, but nonetheless they succeed. Maybe I'm rotten at the core —whatever that means— and that's why I can't connect with others. I'm like this jelly fish in the night sea, occasionally popping aglow as a nod to other fish, but mostly dim and adrift.

    This morning I saw Ann on my way to an English exam and glued my eyes to my phone and walked past her. It's funny because we went hiking in a group a couple times, and I guess those are exactly the kind of people that you are supposed to acknowledge with a greeting. In fact, I'd go as far as to say she is my friend. I picture her as one of these shiny points on my phone's contact list, branching out of this luminescent network seen from the air. A friend.

    People you take classes with are classmates, people you work with are colleagues, people you hang out with are friends. Some use the word quite liberally, as a rule of etiquette. ''Friend'' sounds better than ''this person here.'' Yet others perform complicated verbal gymnastics to avoid an introduction of the sort ''s/he is my friend.'' Someone careless might drop a ''your friend'' to refer to someone whose name they've forgotten. I guess I cause people the extra trouble of clarifying ''actually not my friend.'' A bulb bursts, a step closer to a total blackout.

    Back when I stayed in the same place longer than a year I had people I'd make a point of inviting for a pint at regular intervals. I could call them friends with full confidence. My best friend, for instance, I'd known since we were six. I never knew whether he was happy or sad or who he was dating, and to this day I don't know what music or movies he likes. Now he is a twinkling dot on that phone book network, perhaps brighter than most.

    So I can't really understand people or bond with them. All that's left is using them—what they call success, if you do it well. But then there's the mole.

    It's 9 p.m. and I'm holding a cutter. I can make it better. Perhaps some light will shine through the bloody cracks.
     
  4. Anonymizer

    Anonymizer Contributing Member

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    Truman (302)


    I met Truman ten years ago when we were eight years old. We became best friends instantly and played together every day after school. Truman was the funniest person I had ever met. He always had a joke or a funny story to tell. The greats thing was the games we would come up with in the small bedroom or outside our imaginations, Truman’s being greater than mine, ran wild. My favorite was always space cowboys. We would sit in the small tree house in the back yard all day and have battles in space fighting of evil space pirates or invading hoards. Sometimes we would land on a planet and meet the people that lived there.

    We were joined at the hip for three years until one day Truman wasn’t there to play with me. I searched the house to no avail. The backyard and tree house nothing, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I sat on the front porch and waited.

    Two hours later I heard him, he was walking down the sidewalk having an exciting conversation. I was so happy finally we would get to play if only for a little while. As he turned the corner off the sidewalk and onto the path that led to the house I saw a boy walking with him. I was standing I yelled “Hey Truman you’re home!” He was so wrapped up in his story he didn’t hear me. As the two reached the porch Truman didn’t see me and walked right through me. Then I knew our time together was over he had a new friend now. I lowered my head, a tear ran down my cheek I wasn’t sad I was happy. The lonely boy was no longer alone and I faded away as I walked toward the street.
     
  5. Anonymizer

    Anonymizer Contributing Member

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    Change (494)

    When I woke up this morning, the first thing I saw was my wife. She is still the most beautiful person I have ever seen. I don’t tell her often enough, but I love her. I truly do. And when she woke up and opened her eyes, I couldn’t help but smile. She still does that to me, you know?

    On any normal day, my wife would have made us breakfast, but I suggested today we would take the day off, do things differently. So we got dressed and went to a café not far from our home. And as we were eating our pancakes, like we had on our first date, I couldn’t help but notice the man who walked in. I recognised him, how could I not? I hadn’t seen him for years, not since he left, but here he was, in the flesh. At least I thought he was. But no one else seemed to notice him, no one else seemed to feel the atmosphere in the café change. Not even my wife. So I chose to ignore him as well. Or at least I tried to.

    My wife had already gotten up and put her jacket on, but I couldn’t help but look at the man again. He hadn’t been served yet. Or had he? Maybe he had already finished his breakfast, and I simply hadn’t noticed? Maybe I was starting to imagine things. Was it even him? People change, don’t they? I looked back at my wife, who had a worried look on her face. Maybe I really was imagining things. I flashed her a smile, told her I was fine, and we left the café.

    That should have been it, but when we were at the park, where I had asked her to marry me, I saw him again. He walked right past us, and for a second, I got dizzy, and my wife looked more worried than ever. As I explained to her that I thought I recognised the man who had just walked by, she took my hand, and looked back. She asked me one thing, and it made me feel like I was being swallowed up by the earth. What man?

    As I am standing here, I know this is it for me. For years I had managed to avoid coming here. But after seeing the man, just as I had seen him all those years ago, I knew I had to face the truth. On that day, almost seven years ago now, my wife and I had had pancakes. We had gone for a walk. I had seen the man. The police had never believed me afterwards. They had always asked me that question. What man? But my wife had always stood by me. She had believed me. Without her by my side, I would have fallen apart.

    I take a deep breath, and I look down at the heart-shaped gravestone.

    Rose
    Beloved wife
     

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