I'm writing a flash fiction for my creative writing class, and I want some nice people to read it for me and give me their interpretations ;A;
It isn't too long, just one Microsoft word page ;w;
Basically, what we were supposed to practice was the use of an ordinary object (clothing, jewelry, something on the body) to give a deeper meaning to the story.
So look for symbolism~
This is Sara, the girl with the scarf in the story: [link]
and Laura doesn't have a design yet. LOL;;;
I might consider making this into a short comic...
OH and it's slightly inspired by this song: [link]
"Are you better now?" Laura asked her best friend. A pair of brown eyes stared down sternly into a puddle of clear blue ones.
"No problem," she answered, muffling through the scarf Laura had given her so many years ago. She dropped her blue eyes from the questioning brown stare, and touched the scarf uncomfortably. She didn't like wearing this scarf that quieted her voice, but she felt she had to.
"Good, cause nobody wants to hear your pathetic problems anyways. I'll see you tomorrow then, Sara," she said, giving her friend a hug. "And cheer up, okay?" Then turned and strode away.
"Mh," she muffled through her scarf again. Watching Laura as she faded into the distance, Sara clung tight to a little silver bell hanging from the scarf by a single thread. She knew it needed to be re-attached, but she didn't have the confidence to do it properly, nor the nerve to burden someone else to help her. Laura had always told her to keep her problems to herself, after all.
Day after day Sara would go about muffling lies through her blue and white striped scarf, and fingering the bell. As each day came and went, Sara could feel the thread losing its grip on the small object. As each fiber unwound, and each thread weakened, Sara's mind would stray to despair, and her heart slipped further and further into sorrow.
What was she good for? As much as she loved the beautiful, shining bell, she wasn't even capable of mending it. Holding the bell was both a blessing and a burden, and so she clung to it relentlessly with silent desperation. It was all she had, and it was the only thing she couldn't bear to lose.
The next day, Laura strode confidently up Sara's driveway to visit, as she always did. A knock at the stiff door. No answer.
"Sara?" she called, banging harder this time. "I know you're home! Look, I've brought you some cookies! My mom just made them! ...Sara?" she waited another moment. "Well, I'm coming in then. I sure hope you're decent, woman!"
Laura pushed open the door that had always been kept unlocked for her, and stepped into the little hallway that led straight to the kitchen. A plate of cookies dropped, shattered on the floor, and a pair of brown eyes stared wide with disbelief and horror.
In the kitchen, attached to the light fixture, there hung a blue and white striped scarf that had forever muffled the soft voice of a puddle of blue eyes. Her face pale and lifeless, her eyes dead and mournful, and a silver bell hopeless and un-mended on the ground just below.