I Have a New Obsession..

FLASH FICTION.

The way I'm drawn to prose, yet devour poetry, I guess it should be no surprise that I've become enamoured with it's hybrid child.

I love how flash fiction is just a glimpse, a small glimmer of a short story.  Just a piece.  And there's always some twist at the very end.  It's short-stories for the ADHD people like me!

Since I've been consumed by Dave Eggers as of late, I think of his flash fiction pieces would be appropriate to share.  This piece is actually his last posting in a column for The Guardian.

The Battle Between The Giant Squid and The Bears of Yosemite
by Dave Eggers

It was a great battle. You probably heard about it already, so why go on about it here? It was really good, just the best - very intense, hard-fought, and then sort of unclear, at the end, who won. Afterward, there were parades held by both sides, and, 10 years later, some movies were made about the whole thing, and were watched by the citizenry with a sense of grave responsibility. The end.
We will now spend these, our last column inches together, talking about the only thing appropriate at the beginning of June, and that is the outdoor shower, and the advantages thereof. The outdoor shower is: the only way to make a broken woman whole. It can: lighten the load of a burdened man. It will: calm a restless mind. It will: create milk from bile and cotton from cancer. The outdoor shower must: be experienced to be believed. It will not: disappoint. It will not: come to you. You must: go to it. Yes, leave your seat. Yes, walk through the door. Yes, find a sky that's blue and a sun that's warm, or a sky that's white and a sun that's hot. Find some grass or trees or ivy. Find yourself alone. Find a shower head, or a hose, or a bucket with holes punched beneath. Bring some water. The water cannot be too cold or too hot; the water must be noticed but never ostentatious. Now take off your clothes. Do not wear sandals, do not wear clogs. Put your clothes where they can't be seen, and begin the water. Look up as the water comes to you, laughing - not at you, with you - while it falls downward, celebrated by the sun on its descent. Each drop is given light; this is only fair. Now push the water around your body. Touch your wet skin and feel somewhat sexual. Now strangely pure. Now sexual again. Now like an animal. Now like a god. Take some water in your mouth. Return it to the land. Look up again at the water, still coming to you, all of its droplets giggling like babies. Let them fall. Now you understand. Let them fall. Now you know why water falls, why babies fall, why everything falls. Water falls so we can stand under, waiting and undestroyed. (my emphasis)

Can you see why I love this?  I know you can, because you are brilliant and have impeccable taste.  That's why we're friends.