short fiction

Down with Design: A Flash Fiction Piece

Someone needs to design a better hotel. I just came back home from Greece. Yes, I am aware that European luxury hotel designs may differ from those in America. I also know that Europeans often pack less than Americans due to space in their homes.

However, the decorations made it seem more like a Victorian Era mansion. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Marble statues stood on the floor. Gold and red dominated the whole hotel.

Hello? Someone could accidentally knock something down. Or, someone like me, may prefer more modern décor. That’s when you eliminate unnecessary decorations. You have simple shapes and minimal color—at least based on what I’ve seen.

Now I’m not saying my trip to Greece stank. I had a good time, from seeing the Parthenon to boating around Crete. However, this was my first trip to Europe. I’ve never left the United States, except when we went to Canada for my cousin’s wedding two years ago. Even there, the hotel we stayed in had a more modern design.

I am now in my room in New York City, overlooking Times Square. There is a parade happening, but it is about Mexican Culture. Right—it’s Cinco de Mayo. The Mexican Hat dance is playing. People are wearing Sombreros. I, myself, am Mexican-American.

I look out my window, thinking about my culture as a observe the parade from the fifteenth floor. I just turned fifteen a few months ago. I had huge quinceanera at a hotel in midtown. The banquet room had chandeliers, gold and red color scheme, and a lot of old-fashioned décor.

And yet, I disliked our hotel in Greece. Who am I to blame? Old-fashioned interior design will exist forever. I have to get used to it. It might be 2018, but still. How could I forget that my own party had been held in a room like that? And not only did the room have old-fashioned décor, but so did the entire hotel.

Friends and family from all over have come to watch me turn fifteen and celebrate it. My parents still have the balloons that spelled out my name, Angela. You know what? I should know better. Design may matter, depending on the building and who it targets to, but I need to accept all types of décor, whether it’s old fashioned or modern.

short fiction

It’s a Wonderful Week: A Flash Fiction Piece

I wish an alarm would notify me whenever I had to complete a task from my to-do list. I get overwhelmed by all the things I have to do, especially when it’s a lot.

            In about a week, I am moving out to college. It’ll be about three hours north. I’ve already met my roommate. Her name is Sienna. She comes from California.

            I have to buy my supplies, for both my dorm and classes. I also have to pack. My mom suggests two weeks’ worth of clothes. Then she would send me warmer clothing as the weather cooled down.

            I am sitting in my room right now, looking at my high school graduation pictures as well as my eighteenth birthday photos from March. I am going to miss my high school friends and their nickname for me in stage crew “Glitters” rather than my real name, Amanda.

            Freshman orientation will happen for the first three days. Then classes will begin. I’ve heard rumors about college and how scary it might seem, especially for first-years.

            My older brother, Winston, had commuted. He graduated last year, when I completed the eleventh grade. Despite his time living at home and attending college, he wouldn’t talk to me a lot about the experience.

            I close Facebook and turn off my computer. My friend, Lola, also living at home for college, is going to hang out with me in about an hour. I will enjoy the last week here in Connecticut until I bid goodbye to my house.

short fiction

Sierra the Former Snob: A Flash Fiction Piece

Sierra dragged her feet up to her room. Only a couple months remained until high school graduation. But she wished she had earned her Girl Scout gold award.

She entered her room and sat on her bed. She had done everything she could to try and receive the reward. But her attitude in Girl Scouts had made her mom pull her out of the troop.

Her family had a ton of money. Sierra had not bragged about her wealth in Girl Scouts, but had been let down by things that’d been below her standards or when the other girls had complained about her wishes involving more money than they could afford.

When the troop took a trip to Paris a year ago, they had not stayed in a hotel, but a hostel designated for Girl Scouts. Sierra had complained about no house keeping, décor matching the level of schools, and had stated that it would have made a great homeless shelter.

Other times, Sierra had suggested trips to Niagara Falls and amusement parks, which the troop leader had turned down for costing too much. When eating out, Sierra had had to deal with sandwiches and salads rather than bistros or taverns, which she’d preferred.

But Sierra had wished she hadn’t boasted about her richness. No one in the troop spoke to her anymore—not even those in her grade at school, unless they had to.

Sierra now wanted to go to a SUNY college rather than the Ivy League she had chosen. Maybe she didn’t deserve fancy things. Perhaps, she should not go to college this fall.

However, her parents had already paid. What would they say if she’d told them she wished to delay her freshman year for the following autumn?

short fiction

Somebody Has Lost a Sheep: A Flash Fiction Piece

I scanned the surrounding as I pushed my barrel down the field. The sun hadn’t risen yet. It was probably not even six A.M. yet.

I returned to my house, after exceeding the distance I had intended to push the barrel. I then returned inside, eying the chocolate morsels on the counter.

Oh darn it, I didn’t clean up well enough before, I told myself. At fifteen, I knew how to make pancakes from scratch. I had since I was eleven. I loved to put chocolate chips in them. But I should have checked the counter last night. My childhood dream of becoming or turning other things invisible would never come true.

I swept the candies with my hands and threw them away. My family hadn’t woken up yet, so they couldn’t yell at me. But the moral of cooking was always to tidy up after you finished.

I flicked my long, dark hair behind my shoulders and headed back to the stairs to relax. But a sheep from outside baaed.

I turned to the window. A white sheep roamed across my backyard. My family lived on a farm, and we had sheep, goats, and chickens. But this sheep did not belong to us. It wore a purple collar. Some other farmer must’ve lost it.

The creature buried its head into the barrel and ate the hay in it. I couldn’t think of any action to take.

My parents and sister still slept. But maybe I could call the number for lost animals and see if whoever lost his or her sheep could have it back.

I returned upstairs and took out my phone. I dialed the number on my device’s Internet and waited. But no one answered. So I left a message. “Hello, this is Rebecca Arbuckle on fifty, Gray Stone Street, Petunia Town, NY. I found a lost sheep in my backyard and wanted to know if you could tell the owner. The sheep is white and wearing a purple collar. Please give me a call back at 631-555-1234 when you get this message. Thank you and have a good day.” I hung up.

My eyes drifted to my bedroom window. The sheep ran away. It galloped down the street.

The sun also began to rise. I decided to get ready, but would not give up on making sure the sheep is returned to its owner. Today would involve lots of work, but in a good way.