A flash fiction entry for the Reflex Fiction Website.
The Word
Another sip of freshly-pressed coffee, as feet pace around the kitchen and into the study. There’s a chill underfoot when emigrating from warm under-floor ceramic heat to room temperature carpet. A fragrant woollen floor covering scented from a rolling, scratching, chewing, dribbling canine partner in procrastination.
Ergonomic seat placed at a cluttered desk, a mismanaged surface of distraction. Computer screen echoes the randomness of clutter in assorted browser tabs. Social media videos and emojis convert to the equivalent first primal attention given to flickering flames of fire. A stare, as distant, as it is close.
Again, up from chair to stand, itching a single shoulder, hoping, as left hand brings money, so may the shoulder bring decision. Or was that the right? A scratch of the right then, which could chase away any resolve. Back and forth, one side to next from shoulder, to neck, to head.
The body is covered in self-doubt. The stronger the scratch, the greater dulling of indecision. But it’s a lie no less, a conversion of mind-fog to red-raw skin. The problem remains unresolved.
Steps retrace to the kitchen, to procure tea, with a snack. A sweet diversion, not needed nor desired, but fulfilling absent headspace. Only, it falls straight through the abyss that is the anxious confused mind, there is no fulfilment.
Again from warm to cool, out from culinary to digital temptation. To the seat, place the cup, hold that thought, tap the keyboard, start on the page, type the first letter, and then the next. A word, there is a word, a fine word. A word of meaning, portrayed from notion, of outstanding literary merit.
It’s there.
Alone.
Drowning in a sea of emptiness. Surmounting pressure from the depth of blank emittance.
Backspace … backspace … backspace, backspace, backspace.
Overwhelming is the strength of doubt.
307 Words.
Edited from an Original Entry on:
