Editor’s Note: Flash fiction is an ultra-short story, with many pieces falling under the 1,000-word mark. Despite its brevity, it remains a self-contained narrative that requires the traditional elements of fiction—such as a beginning, middle, end, characters, and conflict. This is a piece I wrote at a Writer’s at Work conference. We were tasked with writing a short story of 250 words or fewer, which was much harder than I anticipated. :

Something Left

Mama found it in the garage and tossed it in the garbage.  After she fell asleep, I crept like a burglar into the backyard.  The lid rattled, but I quieted it with both hands like I seen the bandman do with his cymbals.  Sure enough, it was down bottom squished under a dead toaster oven.  The Boston Red Sox.  Daddy’s favorite team.

I tried it on.  It was too big for me and looked silly on my head, tipping to one side or the other.  It was stained awful and smelled like cobwebs, but I had something left that was Daddy’s.  I liked to think he left it for me on purpose.

Then I heard Mama coming down the hall.  I tore the hat off and sat on it.  “Whatcha been creeping around for?”  

“Nothin’.  Just thought I heard something.”  I was acting fidgety and knew I must be looking guilty.

“What’s that sticking out from under your behind, Pauley.”  The hat was just too big to cover with my little rump.  I was sweating now, standin’ there dumb, not knowing what to say.  She jerked the hat out from under me.    

She stood there silent like for awhile looking at my face and squeezing the hat in her fists.  I didn’t dare look up.  I just watched those hands.  Then I saw the grip loosen a bit.  She ran her fingers soft like over the red ‘B.’ I looked at her face and realized she wasn’t mad at all.  Just sad.  She put the hat back on me and I saw the corners of her mouth rise slowly.