I was experimenting with repetition in flash fiction this week. What do you think of this one?
Irons. In the fire. He rubs his eyes. He’s always had too much to do. Leap. He tries to leap up. Chains hold him down. Only his arms and hands are fluid. He cracks his knuckles. He feels. Tortured. Out of breath. Out of time. He cracks his knuckles. Again. He rubs his eyes. Again. He does not see. The chains are weak, rusted. He could break them if he wanted. Badly. If he wanted to reach the fire. The irons. In the fire.
Note: This story is not in the flash fiction collection (The Ice Cream Vendor’s Song) I’m holding up in the picture accompanying this post. It might make it into a future collection, though.
Copyright © 2013 by Laura McHale Holland