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Flash Fiction Friday: Converse

The sky is dark, the stars and moon shining brightly among the dark chasm of space. There’s an autumn chill in the air around me: perfect hoodie weather. Although, I’d wear a hoodie no matter the weather. My hood is up and my hands are stuffed in the middle pocket. I look straight ahead. It’s a quiet street with cars parked on the sides. It’s deserted compared to the rest of the lively city. I can hear people who are far off, cars driving and honking, dogs barking. I look up. I’m under the only street light on this road. It’s flickering. I look down. I’m standing on cracked concrete. My old, black converse shoes are on my feet. I love these shoes, it’s an odd desire to continually wear these old, dirty converse. I look to the right—it’s just a dark sidewalk. I look the the left—it’s the same as the right but there’s a man. He’s taller than me, stronger than me, and he even looks older. His hair is dark and his eyes are green. He’s attractive, but I won’t say it out loud. I don’t know him, not yet. I love him too, I just don’t know it.

Just like any normal person, I’ve been given a name. I’ve been given a family. However, I couldn’t choose my friends. I’ve learned my past and made aware of some of my future, yet the answers still elude me. I don’t know my purpose or what moral I’m suppose to teach to the reader. I know I’ll come across issues and challenges. I’ll be hurt, I’ll be happy—it’s all expected in any person’s life.

The world has started to form. It all looked familiar but I’ve never been here before. It’s only natural I feel as if I belong, it’s been created to revolve around me. There’s a place for conflicts among enemies and a place for conflicts among friends. There’s a place where an enemy will become a lover, and where friend will become foe. I know of a location where I’ll lose someone. One day, I’ll share a laugh with someone I once felt conflicted with, the man, and learn just how much I love him. And we’ll return to this important place for more laughs.

I’m scared. I don’t want to turn around. I don’t know what I’ll see. I swallow nervously. I turn back to look at the dark building behind me. It looks abandoned. The window reveals my reflection as it looks back at me. I look like a normal teenage boy—generic. My hair is brown and it somewhat covers my blue eyes. She thinks it’s attractive, She’s the one who created me in hopes that She can use me as an escape. She created everything—the world, the people, the events, the plotline, the store. She is the writer.

by Melissa (Milo) Schmitt

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