"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see." Edgar Degas

Friday, December 27, 2013

Flash Fiction Friday - The Broken String




What happened was the string broke. Shit like that happens all the time. Everything is held together by things like strings, and glue and pins and nails and stitches and hinges and belts and affection and respect and friendship and love. And they all break or wear out at some point. They all get stretched too far or grow brittle with age. They rust.

This particular string was put together well back in the last century, back in the heady halcyon days of rock’n’roll. It had already gone above and beyond the call of duty but Steven had taken for granted the notion that it would never break, or at least that he would before it did.




It was probably wound too tight. When he was young it had been pliable and slack and he’d tossed it around with abandon. It was strong enough to hold together many disparate young ladies with himself. It was flexible enough to bind the female flesh to him while his own skin remained unmarked. But in time it stiffened and tightened, as such things will, and it dug into the tender muscle of heart. It was females at the center of it all. His wife and his daughters and the one who excited him more than all the rest put together.

Steven married Cynthia to bind her to him and it worked so well that there were soon more girls, little Jessica and Ashley, and the string bound them all together while the girls grew. Then, when the storms had passed, after it had given stability that nothing else could, the string snapped. Cynthia was the first to see it happen. Steven went limp. His arms couldn’t hold her. His knees buckled under his weight. He came completely unwound.

Egg shells are known for their fragility. Shotgun shells, not so much.