*For the longest time, I was convinced I couldn’t write microfiction. I was adept in telling a story in 60,000+ words, not less.
Then one day I came across a microfiction of 250 words and my brain said, “You can do that.”
My brain is easily convinced of many things, things I can’t do under the best of circumstances and after extensive training, but it wasn’t wrong this time.
I gave it a go, using a story idea I had and found I was able to convey the emotions of the story in one moment of the tale. It confirmed my specialty wasn’t romance, but angst. That is my superpower when it comes to writing.
After my first book, I started compiling a list of stories I wanted to write, but eventually came to the conclusion I likely wouldn’t have the time to do so. With the realization that I was capable of writing microfiction, I decided to write those stories that way, taking a key moment to tell the story itself. That way, the ideas wouldn’t die with me if they never got written.
This is the third microfiction from that series. I have about eighty more to go.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She doesn’t look at him, remaining quiet to the point where he doesn’t think she’ll respond. He wants her to say something—anything—but he also knows he can’t push her.
Eventually, she says, “I’ve screwed up everything I’ve ever touched. I had nothing, and I was nothing. I tried starting over, looking for something to give me hope. That’s why I came back for Charlie.” She pauses, her gaze down, refusing his. “But then we met and… I needed you. I needed to impress you, to show you that I was more than just a nobody—”
“But you’re not a nobody—”
She doesn’t acknowledge his words.
“I know it was stupid and I don’t believe in fairy tales, but… I fell in love with you when we met and I wanted you to love me back.”
He steps closer to her, into her space.
“I do love you, Natalie,” he says, putting an emphasis on her true name and not the one he has come to know her by. “You were right when you said I had gotten so used to being alone. I was scared at how happy I was with you. The only thing I knew to do was push you away. But I can’t do that anymore. I want to be with you.”
She finally looks up at him.
“I come with a lot of baggage,” she whispers.
“And I come with a lot of mileage,” he responds.
She utters no words, letting the tears speak for her. He brings his hand up to her face and wipes them away with his thumb.
“I love you, Natalie,” he says again.
Ruth E. Griffin 