More Flash Fiction or Micro Fiction, only comes in at 436 words, but is a perfect example of exorcising my soul.
I find quite regularly, that I start to write for no other reason than I have something I want to say without saying it.
I don’t know who I am talking to, or who is listening (or if anyone is listening), but I need to say it, and just sometimes I share it out.
This story is called “Diamonds Can be a Man’s Best Friend”.
Feedback always gratefully received.
(Reading it back, I can see flaws in it, so wont be upset if you do too!)
Diamonds Can Be a Man’s Best Friend.
By Phil Deane.
The awkwardly shaped room had a plush deep red carpet filled with diamonds.
Sixteen small cream diamonds each with a perfect rustic brown square in the centre. The outer framework was bordered with yellow and blue.
I counted each diamond working out the dimensions.
Someone is talking, but I’m not listening.
I concentrate on the floor, nothing else matters.
(Breathing held to twelve breaths per minute.)
Keep looking at the diamonds.
Someone coughs and I look up. It’s a mistake. The diamonds slip from my mind. Thoughts creep into my brain, clouding the perfect symmetry.
Focus! The diamonds, it’s all about the diamonds.
We stand. Noise in the background, people studying the paper in front of them.
Not me. I just keep looking at the floor.
The floor keeps me grounded. It keeps my brain from floating away. There is no room for floating today.
My mouth moves, no voice comes out. I feel eyes looking at me.
I am the first to sit back down. I don’t wait for everyone else. I don’t even wait to help my blind Uncle beside me. I just slump down on the chair. Never taking my eyes of the diamonds.
I take a big breath and go back to working out how many diamonds I can count.
Six large diamonds per metre, thirty-six per square metre. The room must be 100 square metres.
That’s 3600 large diamonds and 57,600 small.
That’s a lot of diamonds.
It’s almost time.
(Switch to nine large breaths per minute)
Oxygen capacity is going to matter. Slow the heart rate down. Clear the throat.
It’s time to stand again, but this time it’s just me.
Eyes bore into me. I don’t meet them. Not yet.
My foot moves forward and stands on a diamond. The other foot moves and steps on the next. I follow the diamonds.
They got me this far, will they take me further?
I am at the front, I turn.
Still not looking.
I feel like a little boy, afraid to meet the eyes of my accusers. Not able to offer a reason, just gripping the emerald green paper in front of me.
I glance at the blurred words on the paper, smudged from being gripped so tight in my hand.
I look up, faces appear. They are looking to me for wisdom, to offer words to help them understand.
I look back down and open my mouth.
“Thank you all for coming today. I am sure my father would be very happy to see you all here”