Monday, January 29, 2024

Award Winning

WriterAdvice.com

Flash Writing Entry

I'm pleased to share with you
a piece of short ("flash") writing.

If you aren't familiar with the term "flash"
as a genre in writing fiction and
non-fiction, it's the challenge to tell a complete story
in the fewest words possible.

Categories include less than 100 words, 300 words,
and 500 words

(called Macro Flash)

My winning story followed the Macro format
and I am pleased to share it with all of you.

My Wartime Sacrifice

On the afternoon of Tuesday, December 8, 1942, our whole family, including my two-year-old sister, huddled transfixed around our Zenith radio. President—Saint in our home—Franklin D. Roosevelt stunned us with a somber declaration that America would go to war against Japan.

This followed a horrific attack on Pearl Harbor… wherever that was. Did anyone on our block know Japan existed? Not my parents. Not me or my older sister. Did this mean another Great Depression? Living as we did on Southern California’s West Coast made us wonder if we might be the next target in Japan’s sights.

The holidays came and went with few joyous shouts of “Merry Christmas” and “Happy New Year.” Amid the palling gloom, Santa delivered the greatest present a seven year old boy could hope for… a shiny metal Ferris wheel! Complete with swinging seats. It stood so tall it came to my shoulders. My parents weren’t rich, but we weren’t poor either. Daddy had an important job that other dads on our block must have envied. Night janitor at MGM Studio in Culver City. The one with Leo the roaring lion mascot. Dad knew all kinds of important people, like still photographers who took his picture and, with their miracles of darkness and light, made him look like Clark Gable, pencil mustache and all.

The calendar turned. 1943. In a vacant lot across the street from our duplex a sign went up: “Scrap Metal Wanted. Leave It Here.” Little by little, patriotic neighborhood folks brought their older pots and pans. Some left dented car fenders, broken tools, and who knew what people had hidden and forgotten in their black widow friendly garages. As I played across the street with my prized Ferris wheel, I watched the scrap heap grow taller, imagining someone’s junk becoming the wing of a speedy fighter plane.

As yet I had done nothing for the cause of victory. America’s young men got drafted or volunteered to fight for my safety. Three uncles answered the call. At my age, I’d never get a chance to fight for my country… but I could still do my share for Uncle Sam.

No! Not my prized Ferris wheel. Yes. No-no-NO! Yes… no… YES.

Without telling anyone, I picked up my favorite Christmas gift and crossed the busy street, but only after looking both ways as I’d been taught. Standing before the growing pile of assorted junk, I saw nothing as new and cherished as my shiny and most valued Ferris wheel. I inhaled… held my breath and let out a groan….

“Don’t do it!” barked a naysaying voice inside my head.

“You’ll get spanked like never before,” warned a woman’s stern voice—my mother’s. How would I explain my decision if challenged?

My well-rehearsed response? “Saint Franklin asked me to.”