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Writing is an outlet of dreams, hopes, fears, and anger. No one piece is quite the same and every letter is worth all the frustrations. I love writing I don't think I could ever bring myself to stop.

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Never throw your work away. Every word is valuable.


April 28, 2016

GROUP: Flash Fiction

I bought the house for the doorbell. I didn't even go inside. I didn't need too. With a quick handshake and an exchange of words, the house was mine. Doorbell included.

It wasn't in any way fancy or elaborate, in fact, it was quite the opposite. It was just a faded yellow button in a rusty metal covering screwed into the cracked, wooden doorframe. But it worked. When you pushed down you could hear a resonating ding-dong from the other side of the door. I pushed it now, satisfied with the faint sound.

The sound of the doorbell took me back- back to a simpler time. Before... well, before. Back to when it was just me and Mami, living in that little one bedroom apartment. Mami was sixteen and I was seven. Every day Mami would leave to go to that shady building on South Street, and every day she would come back with a wad of cash and a bucket of tears.

The first time Mami came back, she knocked for me to let her in. She never took her key with her, she didn't trust... well, anything. But I got scared because I wasn't tall enough to see through the peephole. I sat there, curled up tightly, crying, until Mami managed to calm me down, speaking softly through the door. I let her in and we had cheerios for dinner.

The next day we came up with a code. When Mami came home, instead of knocking she would just shout ding-dong at the door. It was like our own little doorbell. And it stuck, even after they left that little apartment for a bigger place, or after I had grown tall enough to see through the peephole. Even when Mami got caught and went to jail.

And now I had a doorbell, and the house that came with it. But I didn't have Mami.

I hastily turned and sprinted down the road, suddenly disturbed by this place. I couldn't face it. I couldn't face the memories of her. But they were there, resting quietly in the shadows of my mind. The day she took me out for hot dogs in the park. The simple, string necklace she got me for my birthday. Every time she pulled out a spool of thread and a needle to patch my jeans.

And then there were the ones that didn't rest so quietly. The times they had to leave in a hurry, hiding from strangers in the shadows. The day they came and took her away kicking and screaming. When I got a phone call form the prison warden, and a piece of me died. She died.

I collapsed on the side of the road, exhausted. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't live in a world without her.

And then I heard a noise. A faint whimper between my cries. I looked up. It was coming from a puddle not far away, from a burlap sack sitting in a mud puddle. I cautiously moved over and inspected the sack. I opened it.

Inside was a tiny puppy, shivering and cold and wet. She looked up at me with pleading, tired eyes. They reminded me of my own.

I sat there a while, thinking, holding her in my arms, warming her. I couldn't bring back Mami. It wasn't possible. But maybe... just maybe, I could honor her. I looked down at the puppy.

"Come on Mami," I said softly, "It's time to go home."

And I got up and walked back to the house with the doorbell. A new home.



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  • April 28, 2016 - 6:13pm (Now Viewing)

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