Sarah Dignan

ENGL 306
Micro / Flash Fiction Workshop
Internal
It was very bright, warm, inviting, and loving, like a puppy jumping around for his toy. I
have never felt more alive, and goosebumps creep onto my skin, exciting. I only wanted to touch
it, to go to it. I wanted to feel its warmth touch my skin. The pain was gone, as was my hair, but I
didn’t even notice my frail, bony, hand as I reached for it. Floating, floating, floating. I shut my
eyes and it was still there. The soft, yellow-white light that warmed me as the taste of a chocolate
chip cookie fresh from the oven while it makes its way to the stomach.
I don’t remember much, but my husband was there, with my parents and my sister. Were
they crying?
No. I shake my head. No, don’t do that. It disappears; my heart leaps, my legs dance, my
arms move freely, and I smile, twirling in circles. I drift towards the light, the silky fur of a
golden retriever, waiting for me. When was the last time I felt like I could fly?
Frozen. My arms hang limply at my sides, my smile drops, and my legs no longer move.
When was the last time I danced?
Stop it!
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” booms the howl of agony in the distance. Was that me?
Pain. Fireworks shoot off in my head. Pain. My legs wobble. Pain. Jeff Gordan seems to
do laps around me. Pain. My knees meet the ground, my head following suit, like a hammer on a
nail. Pain.
The puppy flees. The light floats away. No, don’t do that. Stay with me. “Come back!”
The light is gone. Everything goes dark.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The steady sound of the IV.
“We got her back.”
 Regarding Kit-Kats
Estelle was out for her afternoon stroll, heading home from class. The clouds drooped
low in the sky. The humidity stuck to her skin like gum when it gets stuck in your hair. Kicking a
rock down the sidewalk, she holds the straps of her backpack, and her knuckles whiten. She
knocks the rock another few feet. Stopping outside of Archives Coffee House, she plops down
onto a bench and removes her backpack, setting it on the cold, hard ground.
She mutters under her breath, “Gimme a break. Gimme a break.” Wouldn’t that be nice.
“Break me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar,” finishes the young lady approaching Estelle’s
bench.
“Oh, hey Mary,” Estelle says with a frustrated sigh. The smell of coffee wafts out of the
building - bitter, bland.
“Is it Henry?” Her voice is soft, sympathetic.
“Is it that obvious?” Estelle reaches into her backpack and pulls out a Kit-Kat Bar.
Taking a bite, the jingle continues to play in her head, again and again.
Gimme a break. Gimme a break. She breaks it in half, handing it to Mary. “I just, I don’t
know what to do anymore.”
“Was he texting Amber again?” Mary asks, accepting the Kit-Kat.
“Yessssss” Estelle groans. She crunches the Kit-Kat and it seems to dissolve in her
mouth. Gimme a break. Gimme a break.