I wrote this piece of flash fiction earlier this year for a writing contest. It did not win, so I thought I’d publish it here. Flash fiction and short stories in general were never my strongest suit. I’ve always favored longer, more epic storytelling (an influence from my years of growing up on a steady diet of soap operas). One of my early novels was a multi-generational epic that a writing mentor suggested I break up into different novels, something that, ironically, I resisted at the time (ironic because now I am enjoying writing serials that let me explore those epic soap opera storytelling, albeit more grounded in sci-fi conventions). However, I am still fascinated with the brevity and conventions of the short story and am always looking for experiences to perfect my skills in this medium. The flash fiction piece I’m presenting here is called “Transformations,” and, in this piece, I wanted to tell a story that explores the protagonist’s thoughts through descriptive detail. I limited as much interiority with the character as I could and focused only on her observations. What she observes does the heavy lifting in describing what she fears and desires. I hope you enjoy it.
Transformations
She was vanishing under the weight of her gown. Pounds of cream and lace, mother-of-pearl buttons, crystal beading in embroidered details, all smooth and silky to the touch. Feet trapped in low-heeled satin slippers, a face obscured by more lace. Something old––her mother's gold bracelet chained around her wrist; something blue––a garter belt in baby blue (why baby blue?), a promise she was to give away (why give away?) to the bachelors who will eagerly crowd around her like baying hounds.
She was vanishing under all that satin, cream, and pearl.
She stared at herself in the tall mirror, hunkered under fabric waiting to be unsheathed by hands that were familiar with the smoothness of her skin. Satin puckered over the gourd of her belly, a jack-o-lantern smiling back at her, waiting. She touched her cheek, rouged with too much makeup, soft and plump. She touched her wine-stained lips. Their softness felt real under her fingertips, but when she stared at herself in the mirror she could not see her lips or her eyes. She was dematerializing, transforming into something unrecognizable. The reflection faded, revealing only the wall behind her, the leather sofa, the table, the framed picture of a Jesus, pale and somber-eyed, and the sunlight falling slant-wise from the narrow windows, golden with the phantom vestiges of summer.
Outside, the sounds of motors, wheels crunching over fallen leaves, laughing voices, the steady clicking of footsteps. They married the sound of her beating heart, matching a rhythm that was no longer her own. She drew in her breath, felt the weight against her ribs, and drew it out again. Keep breathing, keep breathing, keep breathing.
At the reception, she sat at the long table with the rest of the wedding party. Guests dined at the smaller tables or danced to the DJ her father hired. The air crackled with music, laughter, and chatter. Her face cracked from too many smiles.
Beams of light streamed from the tall windows in the reception hall and fell against the wood parquet and the round tables centered with autumn flowers of red and gold. She watched the motes swirl in the light like stardust. They fell over her, transformed her, and rematerialized her into something else, something unrecognizable, something newborn. Keep breathing, keep breathing, keep breathing. Now smile.