Flash Fiction Piece- Untitled 8/29

Flash Fiction Piece- Untitled 8/29

      

          The condensation began to stick to the mirror. The bathroom reflected got fuzzy, obscured by fog as the shower steam spread. The bottom of the tub was small with no room for pacing. Diana did not pace today. She just scrubbed. Suave shampoo squirted into her palm. Lathering her hair, strands collected in tangles on her slender fingers, occasionally dropping and running towards the drain. Water droplets pounded down. Rather good water pressure failed to drown out her thoughts. Steam failed to relax muscles. Body clenched, the loofa jerked with each move of her thin arm. Scrubbing until her skin was red, she tried to wash her embarrassment down the drain.

Mom at dinner. The scraping of knives. Mom at dinner with her tiny portions. The clanging of utensils. Mom at dinner with her miniscule bites. The scooting of chairs. Mom at dinner with her judgmental glances. The chatter from unobservant boys. Mom at dinner with her snide comments. And she had asked what the second helping was for. And she had looked up and down at Diana. And she had pursed her lips. And she was out of body wash so more shampoo it was. And mom had said 

Now what’s the second helping for?

And Diana had said

I didn’t have time for lunch earlier

And her mother had said

Oh well at least you’re just making up for the calories not adding anymore on

And Diana had said

Yeah

And then her brothers kept on talking and talking and talking. And the knives just kept on scraping plates. And her father was chewing with his mouth hanging open as always. And Diana just sat and picked at her newly refilled plate of mashed potatoes with butter and green beans and roast. And her stomach grumbled as she put her fork back down. And her stomach folded, as all stomachs do, as she sat. Now, her stomach didn’t fold because she was standing up but her thighs pressed together and her arms seemed bigger. And her mother had said 

Now what’s the second helping for?

And Diana had said

I didn’t have time for lunch earlier

And her mother had said

Oh well at least you’re just making up for the calories not adding anymore on

And Diana had said

I’m just hungry I’m allowed to be hungry

And her mother had said

Well yes no of course but you know darling being hungry and being chunky are two different things 

And then her brothers kept on talking and talking and talking. And the dog was barking at a stranger by the window. And the sun was shining right in her eyes and no one had noticed or asked if she wanted the blinds closed. And the mashed potatoes looked clumpy. And the roast had cooled down some so the juices were congealing. And her stomach pushed out, reaching for the plate, pressing against the edge of the table. And she dropped the conditioner bottle which slid across the bathtub floor. And her mother noticed how her stomach touched the table and Diana knew she was noticing because she was always noticing and her mother had said

Now what’s the second helping for?

And Diana had said, 

I didn’t have time for lunch earlier Mom.

And her mother had said,

You don’t need to use that tone I was just asking

And Diana had said,

You’re not just asking. You’re never just asking. 

And her brothers stopped talking. And her dad stopped chewing.

And her mom had said,

What does that mean?

And Diana had said,

You know exactly what I mean. You always do this. I can’t eat in peace. I can’t do anything in peace.

And her mom recoiled.

And Diana said,

Do I not get one meal? One meal without you hounding me and checking me and looking at me and nagging me? Do I not get one moment of peace where I can enjoy something? Where I can live and I can enjoy living and you can keep your goddamn mouth shut?

And the dog stopped barking and the knives stopped scrapping and the sun stopped shining so fucking bright and her stomach still growled and her fork stayed down and the mashed potatoes were still clumpy and the roast looked more like a dead animal than anything else. 

            And the water was scalding. And she bent over to pick up the stupid conditioner bottle but it slipped out of her hands and it kept slipping out of her hands and it wouldn’t stop slipping out of her hands. And she was bent over with scalding water streaming down her back and soap in her eyes and rolls rolling and skin flaps flapping and cankles sitting there all fat and weird. And she gave up on the conditioner cause hair brushes existed for a reason. And she tore back the curtain with her chubby fingers and slammed off the water pressure and dried off every skin fold and piece of giggling fat and wrapped herself in a towel and opened the door to the bathroom.

            Steam rushed out. It rolled down the hallway like fog on a muggy summer morning. It trailed after her as she tried to leave the heat behind.   

Use of close third narration, mix of tight and broad scope, repetition of dialogue/exteriority, and run on sentences to show spiraling thoughts. Ending at the main character's climax of emotion allows for remaining tension and an open ending.

Hopefully, my attempts at these techniques worked, otherwise, ignore this post.