Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction: Painfully Shy

I’m nursing a sick husband and fielding numerous school emails today, so I don’t really have time to post anything new. Instead, I’m re-posting another flash fiction piece originally published on my self-hosted blog January 25, 2006.

Fiction under 250 words

alone Why am I here? Why do I endure this crap every month?

Wendy pursed her lips and looked around the school cafeteria. The other mothers were milling around, quietly talking to the members of their particular clique, phony smiles plastered on their faces, their designer clothes wrinkle-free, their expensive perfume clogging up the atmosphere.

It’s too early in the morning for this.

Wendy cautiously sat down on a gray folding chair near the back. She tucked her purse in between her feet. She spent a few moments smoothing her shoulder length reddish-blonde hair before tucking soft stands behind her ears. She attempted to rub the goose pimples from her arms, was the room cold? Or was she simply reacting to being rejected, yet again?

The PTA President, a tall, thin woman with long, silky straight black hair and a light tan, took her position behind the podium. The other mothers, taking the cue from their leader, began taking their seats all around Wendy. There were soft giggles and a low hum of dying conversations.

Wendy studied her hands nervously.

As usual, no one sat next to her.

She choked back a sob and blinked back the moisture in her eyes.

“Excuse me?” a rather low, husky voice sounded next to her. “Is this seat taken?”

Wendy’s head whipped up so fast she felt a tad dizzy. “No, no please, have a seat.”

The woman smiled and sat down. Wendy swallowed her shyness and opened her mouth to introduce herself.

image by naraekim0801