This is a 2 in 1 post for the Resurrection Blogfest and Insecure Writers Support Group. For the Blogfest, you had to re-post (resurrect) something on your blog. The flash fiction piece below was originally posted on March 7, 2012 for Rachel Harrie's Flash Fiction Campaign Challenge. The story I wrote means something to me, so thought it would be fitting for this Blogfest.
Regarding IWSG.....same old insecurity I guess. Lots of ideas for stories, but just seems to take forever to complete anything--not enough energy! I thought that when my son started JK this year I would have lots of time to write, but I still have my 1-year-old to take care of, not to mention life getting in the way (which isn't necessarily a bad thing). The commitment to a serious writing schedule just doesn't seem to be working out for me at the moment and I guess that has me insecure, like if I was a 'real' writer I'd get down to work. Just trying to give myself a pat on the back for when I do get some writing done, I guess. No point in beating myself up...how motivating is that? Until next IWSG. -Siobhan-
We dig in the trash, the filthy trash, my brother, sister and I. Most days we find ourselves here, scrounging for treasures: scraps of metal, worn tires, anything that may be of value we can sell.No matter how many treasures we find it will not make Mother better.
On this day I find a surprising treasure. A ring.
Mandeep snatches it from me. “Nandini! We are rich!”
I know I should be happy but all I can think about is our mother lying on her side, a mat of woven grass beneath her. Her lips are cracked, her eyes devoid of awareness. Where has she gone, the woman with the bright eyes who used to fill our home with laughter? She cannot even drink the water we dribble into her mouth. My father pretends as if she is sleeping ... you cannot fool a child who has grown up on the streets of Calcutta.As my brother turns the ring around in his fingers I realize that Mother deserves more than to die in an inferno of a hut, flies perched on her sweating face.
I snatch back the ring. “It is my burial gift for Mother.”