All good things must come to an end, and so it is for our series, Building A Short Story.

Eight weeks ago, we started with a 55 word fiction piece fully intending to  create a much larger work of fiction from the micro-fiction cornerstone. Our goal was to reach the requirements for a short story (1001 – 7500 words) by rewriting our piece with an exact word count doubling each time.

We reached short story status two installments ago when we hit 1760 words, doubled it once more to 3520, and are finishing up, without doubling, at 4548 words.

I honestly do not know what anyone else got out of this experiment, but I know I reaped great rewards. The least not being the fact that I actually helped finish something more than a flash fiction piece. Don’t get me wrong, I still think flash is ace, but writing a more substantial piece felt damn good.

Probably the most important thing I gleaned from this experience was the value of word economy at any level.  My freelance work often involves writing fluff to meet minimum word count requirements; whereas my love for writing flash, specifically the micros of 55 worders, constrains me to a maximum word count.

I like to think  the best prose written is where the author trusts the reader with the paint brush from time to time.  The trick is not the word count, but the impact that each word has on the  story; how well are we guiding our readers to their own imagination?

Without further prattling, here is the story in its entirety:

The Heart of the Hound

I was doing what I had been doing every night for the previous year when that call came in from the dispatcher; trying to choke back love by assaulting it with large doses of bourbon.

No matter how hard I tried to fight it off, love came at me with tear fueled memories that left gaping holes in my heart. Love tread on my soul with its horrific war hammer of depression. My essence screamed her name, but there was no answer.

Not since that fateful night, the year before, when my Shawna was ripped away from me by three .38 rounds while she was on her way to pick me up from the station. Damn that old truck, damn that carjacking asshole.

I swore I would never love again, yet every moment I live is torn by love.

The house was dark and cold. The phone rang and I choked back tears as I fumbled for the receiver, nearly dropping it.

Joanne,  the dispatcher on duty that night, had been with the department for as long as Denny and I had been friends. She loved us as family, often reminding one of an important calendar date for the other.  She knew exactly how men were.

Joanne called me to let me know that something terribly wrong had happened at Denny’s and I needed to sober up and get there immediately.

Joanne knew too much about me.

Stumbling to the bathroom to wipe away love’s abuse, I looked into the mirror and noticed that what were once graying temples had spread their influence all through my hair.

No time to lament on youth,  Denny was in trouble.

It is funny how an emergency can hold back the power of bourbon. Once in the city issue car and on the streets, I felt sober and my tactical thinking mind was coming into play. First I needed to go inside the scene and talk to Denny. Joanne did say that Denny was alive and, although Nora would be taken to the hospital, she would be fine. Joanne also said there was a death at the scene.

This could only mean one thing. Somehow, Nora’s life had been threatened and Denny took care of it. The love between Nora and Denny was legendary. Almost as legendary as mine and Shawna’s.

The drive took less than five minutes over the quiet streets, and I could see the aura of emergency vehicle lights well before I arrived. Pulling up to the scene, I popped two breath mints and got out.

Time to put on my work mask and suppress my own problems.

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© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Years ago I started writing Flash Fiction for just the sheer enjoyment of writing, and now it has turned into a full blown addiction. I can't quit the horse, man! Another dirty little secret about me is my ability to write all kinds of web content. SEO content, articles, blog posts, manifests; you name it, I'll write it. Looking for some help? My gun hangs at r.alex.crabtree@gmail.com

Alex Crabtree

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Tags: 55 word fiction, Building A Short Story, Fiction, flash, micro fiction, Series, Writing

This entry was posted on July 9, 2010 at 9:25 am and is filed under Building A Short Story, Featured, Series, Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.