Flash Fiction

It was a slow day in non-fiction writing class. The professor had prepared a story about a sax player, but nobody was getting into it because the examples only showed what they had already learnt. The professor sensed something was not working, but he did not know how to fix it. Or did not care. Either way, Tracy was so bored, she decided to change the pace a little.

”Professor, do you remember Trent Hauser?” she had been thinking about bringing up the subject before but she never did, not until this day. Even as she spoke, her throat went dry and the last word of the sentence turned out squeaky. It was as if she sensed this was not a good idea.

”Yes,” said the professor without looking at her, “He was a student here. What about him?"

"Have you read any of his flash fiction?"

"I might have, one time in class. Why?"

"I’ve been reading his blog,” she said, “And I quite like it. It reminds me of your style."

"What of it?"

"He was recently published in The New Yorker,” she said

”Miss Baxter, do you have a point?"

"No, professor. Sorry."

"Good,” he said, “Now can we get back to work, please?”

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk