Creative · experiment · Fiction · Flash Fiction · Realism · Slice of Life · writing

The Beginning of The Week | Bite-Sized Fiction, II

As promised (see what I did there?), here is the second piece of Flash Fiction I have written.

Please read the first one to see my rationale behind writing it all, and what I aim to achieve with it!

And as always, please, please, please comment any feedback you have; good, or constructive. This is an experiment, after all, and I wish to improve upon it as much as I can.

This one was prompted by me thinking of a fond memory. Not one of my own, of course. What came out of it was quite the bittersweet mixture, and I think you’ll see why…


The Beginning of The Week

Most people hate Mondays, don’t they?

Not me.

Monday has always been, and always will be, my favourite day of the week.

Your day.

Whenever my siblings and I complained about school resuming on a Monday, you would laugh. And I mean, really laugh. Guffaw. Throw your head back and laugh until you were breathless.

“But why?” You always asked.

“Because school is boring!” We always complained, accompanied with stomps and ‘huffs’.

You would grin then, the sort of grin you wore when you were happy; when you were making mischief. Not at all the sort of secret grin you sometimes had when you were trying not to chuckle in public.

It was brazen and bold, just like you.

“No, no! Monday is the magic day in the week!” You would exclaim, arms wide. “Everything resets! All of the badness of last week disappears, poof!!”

We were entranced by you, no matter how many times you told the stories. Even when we grew up and grumbled about the stupidity of it, all of us still adored it.

To sweeten the story into reality, you always cooked the best dinners on Mondays. Our packed lunches were the talk of the cafeteria. You gave us sweets, sandwiches in impossible shapes, and fancy homemade juices with cryptic labels on everything.

‘Fairy Dust’.

‘Warrior’s Brew’.

It never came up why you really loved Mondays, beyond the magical reset button. But it was just one of the ways you made our childhood an adventure.

Even when your memory started to fade, just like the hair on your head washed out too, you always remembered this day and how special it was. Between my siblings and me, we told you exciting stories about why you loved it.

The reset button.

The rule-breaking magic.

That rebellious streak in you had always been strong, and it came back in glimmers and hushed words as time went marching on.

I still visit on Mondays, and point at your extra-large, readable calendar in your room to show you.

“Monday is… the magic day of the week.” You would whisper as you grasp my hand.

I would grasp yours in return, but wouldn’t say a word.

It’s the most precious day to me, and always will be.

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