Short fiction by Stefanie Gilmour.
Writing Prompt
Personify something intangible.
Story
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
Fear was seated across from me in the noisy diner. Most people would prefer a more secluded setting for such an intimate conversation. But Fear could be unpredictable, so I felt safer in a public space. There was less of a possibility it would attempt to pull a fast one on me.
“I don’t understand,” Fear said.
“I don’t want this anymore…this type of intimacy.” This conversation needed to happen. It should have happened years ago.
Fear and I have been together for as long as I could remember. It was my closest childhood friend. We spent many beautiful summer days playing together. Fear preferred not to include other children.
“They’ll think you’re odd,” Fear warned. “They’ll tell all the other kids.”
We sat next to each other through many school days, earning high marks in all of our classes. Occasionally, I would think of raising my hand to answer the teacher’s question.
“Do you want them to think you’re a know-it-all?” Fear asked. “No one likes that person.”
When I became a teenager, something changed in our relationship. Fear transitioned from childhood playmate to intimate confidant. Our partnership took on an intensity I hadn’t experienced before. We spent every waking moment together. It was difficult to distinguish where I ended and it began. Fear was at my side to lend insight into every decision I made. It was my shield while I navigated the social storm of high school.
Should I wear that? Am I the correct weight? Are my grades adequate for a university?
Am I enough?
Fear covered its coffee mug so the waitress only refilled mine. It stated, “I’ve only had your safety and well-being in mind. I saved you from embarrassment and rejection. I warded off failure. I protected you. I’m being punished for that?” Now came the tears.
At university and in my twenties, I’d neglected our relationship. Regardless, Fear was still present to steer me away from what could have, under certain circumstances, resulted in harm. In my career, it kept me from embellishing my resume. In my thirties, it stopped me from ending a failing relationship when it asked, “At this age, who else will ever love you?”
Large tears spilled down its cheeks. Fear was attempting to manipulate the conversation. It was classic Fear. We’d been together too long for me not to notice.
“I’m not punishing you when I ask for space. I appreciate your efforts, but I don’t want the remainder of my life dictated by you. I feel like I’m suffocating.”
Fear threw up its hands. “Now I’m suffocating you?!”
I started to feel guilty. Was I being selfish? “We can still be friends.”
“Well, thank goodness,” Fear replied with a roll of its eyes.
The waitress approached our table again. “Will this be together or separate?”
Fear didn’t answer. It glowered out the window, refusing to look at me.
“Separate,” I said.
Photo by Shamia Casiano from Pexels
I love the premise and your way of crafting the story to fit well into a sample size while leaving me wanting to read more about this relationship.
Thank you, Matt! I did a lot of trimming to get this down to about 500 words. When Josh and I were writing with the Flash Fiction group in GR, the stories had to be 440 or less. I like how the format forces you to be intentional with every sentence. There is no room for words that aren’t going to pull their weight.
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