In the theme of letting go of the past and such and trying to move forward I would like to share with you, one of the last Flash Fiction entries I posted when I was still a member of a writing forum which shall remain nameless.
I put a year of solid graft into that place, promoting and trying to make it a comfortable and fun place to be and it was all ok until my opinion differed even slightly from the opinion of the central clique. It was torn up and thrown in my face. The bullying and victimising were expertly masked up to a point and considering my real life was beginning to fall apart at around this time too, I struggled until something within me broke.
I am much happier not being part of the word factory and producing my work for just me. Anyway I give you the last flash fiction story I posted on that forum before I left…
Becoming Wolf – A Vaguely Scottish Fable
Often you will find that snakes are hidden in the grass. You don’t really know they ‘re there. They might hiss occasionally to give you a clue, but generally they stay quiet; because truth be told, they want to bite you — apparently it’s their only goal in life — and if you know they’re there, you will just stay out of reach.
Mammy always says watch out for those who would do you harm. But like fluffy white sheep we bleat our false acknowledgement and frolic in the grass anyway; after all — mammy also said that “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence” was a myth. So we pay no attention to our surroundings, hemmed in by the safe security of our fence while venom is being spread, even into the very roots of the grass that we eat and play in; until that venom becomes either invisible, or we start spouting it ourselves.
And the snake is free to attack at will. All are under the power of the venom laid down so carefully, because, we all need to eat — right?
At first, all ignore the wounded sheep — they stay silent about being bitten until one too many nips force pained bleats from their lips. Not that the others care; they care of nothing but following the flock.
And the snake continues to feed, growing fat and content in among the good little sheepies — until, that is — she meets the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Only difference is — the wolf knew she was there.