Moving On
by Ben White
The untouched stir fry is melting a hole in the plate, its steam rising from a silent table: two dishes, two cups, two chairs, one person.
She hung up the phone slowly and went online to proclaim her status to the world. I am young! I am single! And my life begins again, now.
To Paul: It was your touch that taught me I was weak, your head on my shoulder like an addiction, signs of imminent withdrawal in your eyes.
The errands, the rushed meals—all a blur. Before she knew it, she was airborne, half-finished soda stuffed in the seat. Goodbye, St. Louis.
Though anxious, Paul couldn't bring himself to open the letter from her. She had left to find herself in Chicago. It was postmarked France.
Dear Paul: I'm happy. I can't even remember what your body feels like. I don't remember our times together, and you never cross my mind.
He smiles because there was some fresh green in the backyard. She would have liked to see it, but it's too early. It will freeze again.
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Author's Note
A twitter-fiction serial originally published in PicFic, one "tweet" per day for a week in May '09 ( http://is.gd/4lpX6 ).
Each part was originally written to stand alone, but put together they make up a larger story.
My site, Nanoism, is currently running a contest for 5-part serials. It's free, it's fun, it's fascinating, and pretty much everyone should give it a try:
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This was a fine read and also a fine idea to give others a solid idea of what you're looking for in terms of the five-part serial. I will certainly be joining the fun, Ben.
I like the graceful strophes, the tender, melancholy feel of this. The final sentence suits perfectly.
Actually, this form of writing - like Rumi, like Basho - is quite addicitive. This is a wonderful ride.
Thanks, Ben. But you've always known I'm partial to this story;-)
Sheldon—good to hear it.
Cami and Sam—thanks for the wonderful words.
JS—this story wouldn't exist if it weren't for you. PicFic love!
Well rendered, Ben. Nice, nice ending. Thanks for your twitter msg. Saw as I got ready to run out the door. D
Thanksies. Glad you entered the contest (though now I know I'll recognize the author of at least one story—for shame).
And Sam, it's funny how often I've heard that. It is addicting. It gives a sort of instant satisfaction, trying to capture as much of a narrative as you can in a word. We say flash fiction does this, but that's not really often the case.
"It was your touch that taught me I was weak, your head on my shoulder like an addiction, signs of imminent withdrawal in your eyes."
This is fucking gorgeous prose.
I've had that guy. You made me remember why I ever liked him. (And that's saying a lot, considering the bloody ending.)
Amazing shit, man -- so far, my favorite from you.
Funny about this is that I was desperately trying to tell a full standalone piece with each line, so much so that each part was written completely separately. Only JS Graustein originally saw the thread between them and encouraged me to weave the overarching narrative.
I completely enjoyed reading this. I read it first as a whole, and then went over it again each as separate pieces that effectively work by themselves. Very well done.
Amazing and sublime. Two words that don't go well together but can only describe my experience of this piece.
Thank you Seth and Mimi. I am honored.
I like the idea of writing minis like this and assembling them. Well writ.