In the midst of everything I was ignored. Daily I’d stand hand extended, the crowds hustling past shunning connection proffering false intimacy. Sullen and rejected I watched time accelerate, crowds thin and pass me by.

My life never amounted to anything, it was a momentary swirl of occurrence with me standing alone upon high cliffs wind in my hair watching sunrises and sunsets while breathing in infinite possibilities but never plunging into the abyss of those possibilities. What was it about about mortality I didn’t understand.

On my tombstone the words “he loved standing at the waters edge” are enough, no tones of black derision painting my life as a failure are needed. I want my simple marker to consist of allusions to what I didn’t do. Some among you will see between the words and understand how my existence fell short, those not reading between the lines will pass by neglecting the opportunity to know who I wasn’t, afraid to see their own defecencies.

I forgot, I’ve forgotten how everything changes from what we thought it would be.

Toward the end of the year I was pondering what Flash Fiction Fidelity (faithfulness) would look like if put into words or chalked out upon a soiled building wall deep within some forgotten alley. Like the chalk maybe rules for writing Flash are meant to dissolve with the first rain, dripping into an ever widening pool on the ground only to be swept away by gravities suction deep within an anonymous city sewer.

Immediate Emotional Turbulence (IET), words placed on paper that grab and push the reader beyond their normal everyday experiences. And like turbulence Flash has an obligation to compel the reader to surrender their carefully constructed view of reality and feel something new, something extraordinary.

If writing Flash is an excuse to shrink a longer story without challenging both the writer and reader then what is it other then some homogenized spongy slice of white bread growing stale on the counter of sameness. Do we merely need to write about a bowl of fruit or does Flash call us to describe a rotten bowl of fruit littered with maggots evolving into something new while life around withers in loneliness. If there is an obligation for all writers no matter what their skill to challenge themselves and to deliver something real to their readers then maybe writing Flash compounds that responsibility and demands experimentation.

Doling out a quarter cup of plain yogurt from a quart container only shortens the time it takes to eat the plain colorless mushiness adding nothing to awaken taste buds and make the eater lick their mouths roof in delirious delight. But if you throw in dried cranberries canoodling with fresh blueberries sharing space with a sexy pecan or two you may light the fuse within a stilted imagination, forever changing their world and your world as well.

Fidelity Immediate (faithfulness to immediacy) is one New Years resolution I am committed to, stepping out with more experimenting so that my words strike a chord the reader will feel deep within driving a savoring catalyst causing experience and leading them to read more from an ever widening mishmash of daring writers and artists.

After our split we morphed into mere apparitions dismissed by the other with a turn of the head. No social foot prints were left for the other to discover, friends were enlisted as spies concocting elaborate cloak and dagger routines assuring we never went to the same party, never appeared at the same wedding the same book reading, until Halloween night that is.

I have no way of knowing if it occurred to Ellen not to show, it certainly had not occurred to me that my ex wife would be mingling with my guests like she’d never left me. But here she is dressed in a barmaid’s costume leather straps around her midriff lifting her breasts skyward earrings caressing her neck peaking out from beneath her cascading brunette mane. Once the center of our gatherings now she’s the center of my Halloween party.

Mingling her way through the crowd Ellen deftly moves toward me. I mingle in retreat from her advance, and for the briefest moment stop to catch my breath when fingers touch my neck then stroke my cheek. I turn and immediately tumble helplessly into her eyes.

Holding back hot tears welling behind my eyes, I’m unable to speak. Her  hazel eyes lock me in silent suspension, and in one motion acknowledging our dilemma she licks her finger then places its wetness upon my lips snakes her body against mine whispers in my ear “don’t talk”. My heart races the more her body leans against mine my hands encircle her waist looping fingers in leather straps yanking her hips into mine pressing into her  needing more. Barely moving we tug at each other aching to be closer oblivious to the guests, the muffle of a  trumpet player the only lifeline remaining.

Drawing a long deliberate breath as our lips finally touch I come alive savoring her taste in every pore of my body, shivers dance their way up and down my spine my head vibrates as if  touched by electricity tingling with desire back-lit with a deep reckless need for this woman.

Give and take, I touch you, you touch me. We dance around the room the only music a faint awareness of clinking glasses, laughing, talking and our own rhythm between us. My fingers explore her backbone diving into each crevice probing flesh muscle tendons for their connection to her. Ellen  plays the back of my neck her fingers creating wave after wave of  erotic shivers traveling through my entire body becoming euphoric pulses sealing her ownership of my will.

Garbing my elbow hard almost desperately Ellen maneuvers me into the loft’s bird cage her red blushed finger pushes hard upon the up button. Our hands scramble to touch the others face, kneading flesh deeply we linger lovingly as our fingers reach the crossroads seemingly for the first time. Aching to own the other aching to possess deeply, to shut off noise reminding us of the past. The elevator door opens reveling the empty bed we shared before we became  apparitions. We move into the room forgetting our phantom masks, forgetting each others pain while we give each what the other desires.

Tomorrow we’ll float apart like in a movie, now nobody feels any pain, just for now there are no roiling moments of regret inhabiting our lonely self’s, just for now all we need is love.

Lost words tumble from my mouth making their way to my ears, and I repeat the question hoping to kindle magic bringing about epiphany of purpose where there is none. Stubborn intransigence molded from the sticky clay of change grips me tighter each time I utter another slowly stirred  sigh.

“I’m tarnished,” covered in rusted flakes from tears that never really set me free anchored in mundane existence unable to exorcise myself chained to this tightly wrapped barbed wire encasing my mind,  suffocating my heart.

I shift my thoughts away from self pity engaging my cold hands and furtively light a cigarette rehearing scenes of vertical scorn that friends soon will heap upon me as they recognize the stale smell I carry through the front door.

Friends inside festively milling around toasting occasion posting smiles sucking frosting waiting patiently for me to show unaware I’m staring through tiny rows of wavy garage door glass peeking into their world ashamedly hiding orange cigarette glow from their merry inside world.

December frost hitching a ride on winter’s wind sneaks through weathered cracks causing me to contract further into my own lonely warmth. Fingers encased in blue can’t strike a match to relight the stubby fag hanging off my lip.

Grudgingly thoughts become zen bubbles excuses become phantom, cheer replaces apprehension and for a moment self involvement melts with repeated touch from those inside.