Help
Sign In
fiction
January 2009 
Mother's Voice (fiction by Ben Steele)
Posted on Jan 5th, 2009
by 
Marmalade
Marmalade
I'm standing in a kitchen, but it isn't familiar. I'm on the phone talking to my mother, but she isn't my mother... she is all mothers, a piecemeal recollection of primal longings for mother. Her voice is, at first, the voice of a mother from a tv show... now, shifting, the voice of the mother of a childhood friend.
I'm so focused on this voice that I'm barely aware of the kitchen, but I sense there are children nearby, my children. I too am a mother.
The cord to the phone lengthens as I feel myself moving (stepping?) backwards across the kitchen floor. In the periphery of my vision, I see flickers of movement. I worry about the children getting tangled in the phone line.
Then, as if stepping back onto stairs that aren't there, I'm falling. It must be the basement I'm falling into... oh yes, there is the door to the kitchen, a framing of light. I clutch the phone tightly, the cord still connecting me to the light above.
"Mother, are you there?" I hear her breathing, her heartbeat. I grip the phone against my cheek as if it were my mother's breast. I can now see where I am. I'm falling down a hole, the walls almost within reach. Faces appear in the walls, strange faces melting into one another. They luminesce like dying lightbulbs, but when they smile and giggle I know they are my children. I still clutch the pone and the line still stretches upwards. I know the cord will only stretch so far before breaking. Should I let go?
I'm so focused on this voice that I'm barely aware of the kitchen, but I sense there are children nearby, my children. I too am a mother.
The cord to the phone lengthens as I feel myself moving (stepping?) backwards across the kitchen floor. In the periphery of my vision, I see flickers of movement. I worry about the children getting tangled in the phone line.
Then, as if stepping back onto stairs that aren't there, I'm falling. It must be the basement I'm falling into... oh yes, there is the door to the kitchen, a framing of light. I clutch the phone tightly, the cord still connecting me to the light above.
"Mother, are you there?" I hear her breathing, her heartbeat. I grip the phone against my cheek as if it were my mother's breast. I can now see where I am. I'm falling down a hole, the walls almost within reach. Faces appear in the walls, strange faces melting into one another. They luminesce like dying lightbulbs, but when they smile and giggle I know they are my children. I still clutch the pone and the line still stretches upwards. I know the cord will only stretch so far before breaking. Should I let go?
Access: Public
Very interesting. I find myself attracted to flash fiction
and allow each word to create multiple meanings. I appreciate this one and with
most flash fiction, this requires a few reads before one can peel away a
meaning for self.
Cords and mothers…wonderful analogy.
Good job…
I’m glad you like it. I put a fair amount of thought into it. After revising it in different ways, I ended up for the most part going with how I wrote it initially. I had my friend read over it and he was helpful.
I love flash fiction. It can be a very powerful form.
I was emphasizing the dream feeling that much flash fiction can have. I started off with just an image of falling down a hole and the idea of a person continuing to send messages back until at some point the distant becomes too great. This made me think of a cord connecting the person to the world above which led me to the idea of a phone which reminded me of a kitchen which made me think of mothers.
I liked this a lot, too. I first wondered if it was an actual dream. I didn’t know it was called flash fiction though. Very cool re the mothers and cords. Great job!
Hey Centria - It did have some slight inspiration from dreams I’ve had about falling down a hole, but I wasn’t conveying any particular dream. Flash fiction often doesn’t have much of a narrative. Definitely this “story” is pretty skimpy on the narrative. There isn’t exactly any clear conflict or resolution.
In case you’re interested, flash fiction goes by many names and there are related forms. The Wikipedia article about it is good.
Okay…google chrome is not being very cooperative right now…sorry about that…I was just trying to say…your writing was very visual…that is all!
</div><div>color:black”>
Here you go… the words of Denim:
lol Ben…I see how your mind now got here to the point of writing it!
It was a visual read for me and for some reason I visualized this story taking place in the 1950’s or early 60’s. I did so immediately why I don’t know but than ran with it completely as I came to the long phone cord.
In an age of cordless…
Flash fiction…is powerful for the writer and can assist with any blocking one may be stumbling with. Write it and get out. As a reader to flash, I find them powerful and to the point.
Thanks Ben…I feel a little silly, I made a mess in your comments! I was posting and editing and actually trying to figure out what is wrong with the comment box. Than I realized you may in fact get the comment 10 times over…I see you did!
Thanks again!
a lot of interesting food for thought here, Ben! no pun intended
No problemo, Denim.
Hi Nicole - After talking about fiction for a while now, I finally offer up some of my own.
yes, I’ve been waiting a while for this, Ben, and you do not disappoint!