The final installment of my experiment with flash fiction!
As always, please read it over and comment with feedback. I’ve had a lot of fun writing for this assignment, and want to know whether this form of prose is a good fit for me or not.
For our last (and shortest) piece, the narrator finds herself an art gallery waiting for, as the title may give away, her debut as an artist/ sculptor.
People can be immeasurably cruel…
The gallery was a cavern.
I stood towards the front of the monstrous space, near the entrance. Hands folded. Back poker straight. Head held rigid.
I felt like one of the statues displayed in this exhibition room. One of my own creations.
Only there was nothing keeping me aloft like them. They were hung on invisible strings, appearing to be in motion even though they remained perfectly still.
The whole place was still.
As if, much like me, it were waiting on bated breath.
The doors opened, quiet voices eased through the silence. A smile pushed its way onto my lips, and I came to life.
“Hello, my name is Rowena, this is my-…”
I went to speak enthusiastically, brightly, and full of warmth. I stopped because I was talking to no-one.
I frowned. The gallery owner frowned back at me. Shook his head. Turned back and left the way he came.
If cracks could appear in my face like they did when my artwork was exposed to heat, I would look like shattered glass.
I went back to pretending as if I were a statue.