This poet stepped outside her box and wrote a bit of flash fiction. On a whim I submitted it to a contest. I was notified this past week that it took second place in the ACCC Flash Fiction Contest. What a fun surprise! I am only sad that I cannot be at the awards ceremony to read my entry as it is part of a lovely evening celebrating all things arts at the Parley Lake Winery in Waconia, MN. I mean - come on - wines, vines and inspired lines! Who wouldn’t love being there? Unfortunately, I have a prior commitment and can’t be there to read my story at the event. Ah well, I share it here with you instead. Perhaps I will make a video of it to post later.
A Thousand Little Deaths
By Laura Hansen
One morning in May, after feeling poorly all winter, Mrs. Lavery woke up with a burst of positivity. She looked around her dusty quarters and where before she saw only shades of gray she now saw a hint, an aura, if you will, of pale-yellow light. It emanated from a corner of the room and angled across the floorboards like a sunbeam. She rose and opened her long-curtained windows to find the world had turned emerald green. She had suffered the long winter and slept through spring and risen to full-on summer.
Rejuvenated, she dressed sensibly but donned her most outlandish hat, a broad yellow straw thing with a wide pink band and a flounce of faux white flowers on the top. Handbag over her arm, she left the house intending a good brisk walk. Noticing changes around the familiar neighborhood - a red roof repaired, a sturdy new fence, a shiny new sports car (didn't they used to call them roadsters?), a venerable old tree cut down - she started musing about life.
She thought of her son, Gerrold, and how he would cry to see even a single tree branch cut back. He once found her pruning the rose bushes and you would have thought she was committing a thousand little murders. With each snip he would clench his fists and tears would bloom in his eyes. No matter how often he asked, she would not let him have a pet for fear his heart would never mend if the poor creature became lost or, God forbid, died. And they did, didn't they? - the hamsters and gerbils, the goldfish and finches, the kittens - they all died, too fast and too soon. She hardly dared feed the child meat though being vegetarian wasn't really a thing in those days. Mothering was fraught with self-doubt and worry and raising such a tender- hearted child in this rough world was nearly too much.
Mrs. Lavery found she had been walking too fast and not seeing what was going on around her. She stopped and looked about, one foot poised on the curb and the other jutting out into the street. A car honked, a bike zipped by, still she stood, frozen, the sun bright in her eyes. Had this been the moment she lost him? Is this how he was one moment her little boy and the next just a calamity in the street? A bolt of sun in the eyes, stepping out blind into traffic? She felt the impact, the crush of metal to her chest, head snapping back, pain in her neck. Humph. A sudden gust of wind knocked her loose from her memory and she was across the busy intersection.
She started walking again, more slowly. She found herself peering into gardens and even, surreptitiously, into windows. Would he have lived here? Tended this garden? At the thought of flowers, she touched a hand to her head, but her hat was gone. Lost on the gust of wind no doubt. She felt freer. Less visible. She took on her cloak of invisibility with glee. With newfound purpose. This is what she would do now. Create a new life for Gerrold. An alternate life. Every day a version of what might have been. What surely could still be. She turned to circle back home, across the busy street, past the gated gardens, the emerald yards. If she could find her way home, she could start again. She had one last summer left in her, she was sure, and she intended to live it for him.
Copyright 2025Thumbs up or thumbs down if you’d like a video of me reading this or one of my poems.
Keep things fresh and interesting, folks. Keep stretching that creative muscle.
ACCC is the Arts Consortium of Carver County
Lovely, surprising and I wish she could find her hat!
“She took on her cloak of invisibility with glee. With newfound purpose.” When I think of my cloak of invisibility (which I’ve written about) I think of shedding it. I’m interested in your desire to put it back on.