I especially like the comment on the dots falling out of her- it’s a beautiful and thought provoking image. Yes- it needs wrok,and all your comments are well taken and I will work on it some more when my thumb is healed.It;s in this thingy…thanks again.
Flash Fiction / Connect-the-Dots Mom
Connect-the-Dots Mom
She was a good wife, a good mother, a good sister. What she was bad at was life. It had never been particularly good to her. She felt it was all a lie, the marriage, the kids, the life she had to live to please everybody except herself. She got lost in the equation. No one seemed to notice. They were being taken care of- very well mind you- by her. Yet no one took care of her except for half a day on Mother’s Day- and even then she had a mess to clean up, or dinner to cook. It never stopped. The kids got sick, had to go to practice, or school, or somewhere. The husband wanted the house clean and dinner on the table and the remote in his hand after dinner when she had to clean up, bathe the kids, read to them and put them to bed, and then possibly be ready to give it to him even if she didn’t want to. Her life was not hers any more. It was all a lie. She got used to the feeling of lies churning in her stomach like she was pulling salt water taffy end over end- folding them over and over, and watching them grow longer, stickier, heavier into a soft candy that hung like a glistening white sheet over her arms, and body. She felt she was disappearing underneath it all.
No one else seemed to notice. She met an old friend on the street, and she stopped to say hello. The friend said that she’d call next Saturday, and she knew it was a lie. But she smiled any way. Saturday came and went and the friend never called. She lied to herself and said it didn’t matter. Still, she thought about it all day, all week, and all month. When she told herself she didn’t care, she knew it was a lie; it was a truth she didn’t care to face. In her weakness- the lies were easier. The truth was an archeological fact she had to dig at- and she had no muscle, no implements. She stopped caring.
In the beginning the lies were easier and soft like peanut butter, but after years of trying to swallow them, they tended to stick in her craw, and they rubbed her the wrong way like the taffy. The lies began to build up. She could feel it. She started feeling sick to her stomach.
Lies were a drug. They were the mother’s little helper that she swallowed everyday to get through it all. She once believed in Cinderella, but her whole damn life had come undone. It was becoming like an outline, a tracing on paper. The edges started erasing themselves. Her life was becoming an annoyance, a piece of candy stuck between the teeth in the back of her mouth. She stopped brushing.
She woke up one day looking at her hands. The wrinkles were fading. She washed her face in the mirror. She saw no freckles. The mole she once had was gone. Later in the day around lunch, she thought she saw through her skin when she fed the baby.
When her son came home from school he said, “Mom. You look like a connect- the-dots picture.” He grabbed his bat and an apple and ran outside, laughing, “See you later.”
At dinner she tried to pick up the iron pot to cook the steaks in, and she couldn’t do it. Her hand passed through the handle. The baby cried, “Mama,” and she couldn’t comfort her. There was nothing left.
When her husband came home from work, he started screaming for her, “Honey, where are you?” He found her in a corner of the kitchen with the baby pounding her fists through her thighs like she was playing patty-cake. Her son grasped at her neck, calling out, “Mom! What’s happening?” He turned to his father, his eyes wide with fear, “Dad, what’s happening?”
He pulled the kids away. “What are you doing? Why do you let yourself get so worked up?” he asked her fading face.
She tried to say something, and the words came out like a TV on the blink, “I…I…I…can’t…help…it!”
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tia_logic reviewed Version 1 -
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Hm. I think there are too many themes you’re trying to work with for such a small piece. I think the “tracing paper” image is the strongest. The idea of translucent humanity resonates more for me than connect-the-dots. Perhaps you could try defining the dots, as an idea that she is only these things, numbered. But that still draws me to thinking that those things are the things connecting her- as in, holding her together.
The candy theme isn’t doing it for me, either. If you developed it a bit more it may work. Taffy, candy in the back of the throat. Soft like peanut butter, rubbed her the wrong way like taffy – these two images don’t work for me AT ALL. I think of peanut butter as thick, and it sticking inside her seems like a non-statement, an obvious thing. Why point it out? I get what you’re trying to say with the second taffy reference, but it’s worded in such a way that the taffy is rubbing her, while she’s pulling it, while it’s in her stomach. I don’t mean this is what I literally read, I’m just trying to show you the warring images you’ve got.
Too many feminine pronouns in this sentence “the baby pounding her fists through her thighs like she was playing” it’s losing clarity. I’d think about making the baby “it”, as it’s gender holds no real weight in the piece, anyway.
Over use of “lies” as a word. The theme is fine, but I’d try “niceties” or something for the friend’s offer to call. As far as other “lies”, it isn’t quite clear whom is lying, except for herself to herself. There’s a “her life was a lie” which creates the idea that someone has lied to her. Society? I get the idea that everyone needs worth and purpose, but I have a hard time seeing how taking care of her family is obviously a lack of fulfillment, for her. Maybe if I had some kind of exposition into her, her dreams, what she thought life would be like? The lack of character development doesn’t help me to feel empathetic toward her.
I agree your ending isn’t there. If she can’t help it, she can’t help herself, and I don’t know why the reader should care. Perhaps she doesn’t care? A thought.
Why does the family care now, as she’s fading? It makes it seems as if they did appreciate her, whereas the rest of the piece doesn’t.
Anyway, I like the pretence of the woman dissipating into her obligations and such. Keep working at it!
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burnvictim reviewed Version 1 -
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This is probably the most powerful passage: ”The truth was an archeological fact she had to dig at- and she had no muscle, no implements. She stopped caring.” That really nails it, and it’s original.
“they tended to stick in her craw, and they rubbed her the wrong way like the taffy.” The mixed metaphors here to do not stack up to the bar you set yourself with my previous quote.
“Later in the day around lunch,” One or the other, you don’t need both of “later in the day” and “around lunch.”
Not the most original thing I’ve read, but you’ve pulled it off pretty well. Try doing a blind rewrite and see if your second version doesn’t come out more streamlined and consistent.
mannequingirl reviewed Version 1 -
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Interesting story with lots of potential. The concept is great (made me think of a kind of existential anorexia; how the accumulation of the lies pushes her further away from partaking/participating in life to the point that she literally fades away). Some of the images are vivid and compelling (the lies turning/chruning end over end like taffy is superb!). Things to work on: 1. Most of the writing is in passive voice, which has the effect of the story being told from a distance. Consider using a more active voice, possibly even a 2nd person voice (which would involve converting all the instances of “She” into “You.” “You’re a good wife, a good mother, a good sister. But you’re bad at life…” It’s a big change to suggest, but just try reading it to yourself that way and see the kind of difference it makes in terms of emotional impact. 2. I wonder if “in the beginning” the lies didn’t even seem like lies, at least not to her, that she didn’t have time to notice them and by the time she began to notice they were lies, it was too late…she was too deep in her life. I mention this because it would give a bit of an arc to her character, especially if you focused on the specific moment; you could still use the peanut butter, how it went down smooth for so many years, then one day it caught in her throat and she couldn’t swallow. 3. There’s something very stunning in the ending, when her son says she looks like a connect-the-dots, and the baby pounding its fists through her thighs, and the husband’s casual comment. I love this image because it shows how no one sees that she’s fading out, but I think the final moment could be stronger. It’s a very surreal moment and the blinking television analogy doesn’t pack quite the punch. It seems odd to me that she speaks coherently, if at all, and I guess I half expected her not to speak…that instead of words coming out of her mouth…the husband’s comment was the last thing to undo her and…the dots rolled out of her like beads of mercury from a broken thermometer.
Treatsa reviewed Version 1 -
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I like the build up. I truely felt I was her, I was hurt and angry and feeling very misunderstood. But you lost me with the disappearing act. You took very real feelings and issues and turned them into something I couldn’t hold water in. I would’ve liked to see something more believable happpen to her.
orangemilkcrate reviewed Version 1 -
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While there is some GREAT imagery in here [lies became soft like peanut butter LOVED IT!], I think the piece as a whole is sort-of mediocre.
I don’t think you should abandon it by any means, just do quite a bit of re-working and consider a lot of purging. The beginning half seems redundant. We get it. Focus on the true action/meat of the story.
I think there are a lot of people who may identify with this, and enjoy it for that reason, but as a piece of literature, it has a bit of work ahead.
It’s clear that you’re a talented writer, though; like I said, your imagery was, well, masterful. I just don’t want the great parts of this to get lost within the rest, does that make sense?
Souldierpoet reviewed Version 1 -
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I like the word play in quite a few parts, but it seems to go onto nowhere, and I’m left with nothing. But I did overall like it. :-)
madriter1022 reviewed Version 1 -
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I don’t see any typos. Kudos on the grammer. Honestly I have nothing bad to say about this story. You hit flash fiction right on the head. Not many stories catch my attention, but yours kept me going.
J_Lynn reviewed Version 1 -
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Wow, very powerful in it’s own way. I think anyone who has ever settled down and had a family can relate, and has probably at one time or another dealt with the fear that this exact thing would happen to them.
Your piece did an excellent job at capturing the desperation in losing oneself to the roll you’ve undertaken. It can happen to the best of us, and it’s such a desperate thing when it does. I think it’s easy for your reader to feel what your character is going through and to feel for her. My favorite part of the whole piece was this….
“The truth was an archeological fact she had to dig at- and she had no muscle, no implements. She stopped caring.”
I just thought it was a great way to get across that she couldn’t and no longer even tried to pull herself out of her own life.
Nice job, and thanks for sharing!
malapropist reviewed Version 1 -
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This is a good premise for a short fiction piece. The dilemma and interesting action begins in the middle of page 2, when she starts to fade. The page prior isn’t as engaging or really all that telling. You could begin the piece with her fading and then explain it simply with a condensed version of the paragraph about how the lies stayed with her over the years.
Watch how much you return to the same idea. The first paragraph is very repetitive, and it doesn’t need to be so. The idea of being a neglected wife/mother is almost too common, so you can lay it out with one example and move forward.
The piece is most interesting when she tries to interact with the world and cannot. The ending is anti-climactic, and I didn’t feel a sense of closure. I know that’s kind of the standard “form” for flash fiction, but I think you can push this forward some more. You spend a great deal of time trying to make us care about her plight (by telling us so much about it), so I was expecting that there would be some sort of follow-up or closure. Of course,you can end it how you want, but you have a lot of build up, so you need to deal with your readers’ expectations in some way.
This feels like an early draft, which is good. It has potential. Start with the sentence “She woke up one day…” and see how much you need to make that scenario really pop. Good luck.
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