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Flash Fiction

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Thanks to the Ubud Writers & Readers Festival, now I know there is such a type of writing called flash fiction.

What’s fun about creating a flash fiction is that I don’t have to think big for the plot. Well, finding the idea is still the most difficult part but to have it for a much shorter writing does help, at least for me.

There are so many awesome entries that I’ve found. I’d like to recommend her 3.13 and his 3.13. They are a pair of equally lovely posts! I voted for several more but those two impressed me most.

Anyway, reading those fiction makes me realize what kind of writer I want to be. I’ve been thinking about that and now I can put some answer to that question.

Most (mm.. I don’t know, maybe 60%-ish) fictions that I admire fall into dark fiction. Well, not dark. I just haven’t found the right word. It contains certain portion of revenge, murders, suicide, betrayal, anger, unfaithfulness, and so on. I found myself voted fictions like that because honestly those were cool, those are cool. I still think so.

It’s not that I object to them. I don’t have any objections. It’s truly great because it’s real. Those things happened in real life. It’s just that for me, if I am about to give impression to my readers (still a long long way to go but someday, someday, amen! :), I want it to be heart-warming. I think that’s my goal.

Back to Ubud’s festival, I submitted 2 entries. I’m going to archive it here.

My flash fiction entries

Written by Elfira Y S

September 23rd, 2010 at 9:18 pm

The Conversation Between Two Morning Dew Keepers

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I didn’t get it.


You said that the morning dew could disappear.


Disappear and not because of our own will?

Yes, you heard right.

But that’s impossible.

Why so?

That’s just impossible! We guard our own morning dew. Each of us has our own and we will never let it disappear if not because of our own will.

That’s true.

What?! So, how come you..

Hey, I didn’t say it happened in our world. It certainly does not.

Then, where?

You see, there’s this other world where the morning dew disappears as the thing called sun evaporates the morning dew.

Is this sun a bad thing or something?

No. I do hope it’s some kind of a monster but from what I heard that’s not the case. In fact, it is categorized as something magnificent, useful, and else. And also, it’s warm.

That’s strange.. It does evaporate the dew, doesn’t it?

Yeah, it’s surely strange.. I like my morning dew.

Me, too. I won’t let it disappear.

Yeah… Hey, do you want to go to that other world?

Huh? What for?

You know, new world.. adventure.. We might compare the morning dew as well..

You think that world has more beautiful dew than ours?

I don’t know, never been there.. Wanna go check it out?

Hm.. And lose our morning dew by the sun?

Well, that..

No, thanks. I love my morning dew.

… me, too.

* I always imagine the morning dew keeper as some kind of animal. Bees, to be exact. Because they will be busy guarding the morning dew.. busy like a bee… busy, busy like a bee…

Written by Elfira Y S

June 7th, 2010 at 10:48 pm

Posted in my cocktails

The Poster Colour

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It was red and it was white. People called it pink and it was left in the palette.

For a long time, it was dry, useless as the painter used it not.

One day few drops of water fall on it and soon the brush brings it to the paper.

The poster colour is water-soluble. And now it’s happy.

Written by Elfira Y S

May 10th, 2010 at 10:25 pm

Posted in my cocktails


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You were  t  r  y  i  n  g to be funny

. . .

and I was  t  r  y  i  n  g to laugh.

Many things such as loving, going to sleep, or behaving unaffectadly are done worst when we try hardest to do them C S Lewis

Written by Elfira Y S

April 7th, 2010 at 12:23 am

Posted in my cocktails

The Spectator of Two Dices

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How long have the two dices been on her hands? I’m wondering, she might be wondering, too.

Does she always toss the dices in the air and catch it back and repeat? I’m wondering, I bet she’s wondering, too.

Without notice, she puts the dices on the table, under her palm hand. She then moves the dices across the table. My eyes are following her hands and her dices. To my surprise, there’s another person on the other end of the table. Was he always there? I’m wondering but I think she already knew it.

He takes the dices. He doesn’t toss it in the air like she did. He rolls them instead.

The first two numbers are four and five. The number five comes out again the second time, but accompanied by six. I am about to see what numbers the third time when I realize that she and he do not pay attention at all to the dices.

They look at each other. He doesn’t need to look at the dices to get them and roll them time after time. She doesn’t need to see the numbers, she has it in her mind, or so it seems to me.

Now, I look at both of them in turn, at him when he rolls the dice, at her when the dices goes around the table. At him and then at her.

And so.. I’m no longer the spectator of the dices.


Written by Elfira Y S

November 16th, 2009 at 11:03 pm

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That Line

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Sunday Afternoon, in the park just near my home, I bent on my knees. Using an ice stick, I drew a line that was not even a straight one. I raised my head a little bit just so I could see your shoes. You were standing right there, in front of me, at the other side of that line. I did not feel the need to see you in the eyes. I intended to take the line to tear apart what had not been there. People might say that was not possible but they did not know anything. As I had not any desire to open my mouth, I delivered the statement inside my head. I pretended that your shoes were you and I would like to tell you something.

You can set your feet at any side of that line or anywhere on this world but as for me, on the other side of that line there will always be you, just like this Sunday afternoon. That line is just for me not to cross it.


“What were you drawing? Let me see. Let me see.”

“Here, here, this is a line.”

“OK… and what line is it? What is that point in the middle of it?”

“That is us. We’ve been together for years. At first, there were us, with our friends, problems, and fun. They are still there plus the whole new experience as a new family, as a parent, as new neighbor, from our parents’ house to our very own, new office, and so on, and so on. There has been a lot and there are more to come. We are in the middle of our journey.”

“You’ve made a mistake, then.”


“The point should be at the beginning of that line. We just start.”


That line below the number is getting bolder and bolder. No matter how many times he makes the line, the number does not change. He looks around and takes a long breath. He scans people passing him by without any thoughts. Back to the number and that line, really nothing has changed. There are chairs and although he doesn’t get asleep these few days, he cannot put himself to rest a little bit. The number keeps him standing. It is given by the doctor, the price of his daughter’s health, an operation he cannot afford. After another 5 minutes of staring and sighing, he gets back to his daughter room. The look of his wife asks what the doctor was saying. He smiles lightly and pauses. Trying to show an ‘everything is alright’ face is harder than he thought. He does not want to lie but does not want to tell the whole truth for now either. So he says, “Everything is going to be OK”. His two beloved women smiles back at him. That’s the moment he knows that it really is going to be alright.


Her little hands hold the paper. She is satisfied with her works. This is her first school test result. She has done her best, before, during, and after the test. By ‘after the test’, it means that she already gives an additional line on her test score. It was 4, now it is 14. She found out few friends who get a 10 and she knew counting well enough to understand that 14 is more than 10. She runs as fast as she can to show her mother the paper. Handling it proudly, she says, “I got you the biggest number in class, Mom. I did it just for you.”, then she giggles. Seeing that line drawn with an orange crayon, her mother can’t help but laugh. She kisses her and replies, “Thank you very much, dear.”


I re-read what I have been writing for 3 times at least. The first one is to check whether the story echoes what I want to share. It is not about how other might get it. I would like to give them freedom to interpret. It is more to have what I want to tell in the form of my writing. The second one is to find any grammatical mistakes. I’ve always tried the best I could but English is not my native language. However, I feel like getting an award every time I do corrections. The third one is to see if I can do better with the choice of words, the plot, the order of the events, everything. If there are the fourth, fifth one and so on, that happens because I am proud of my writing. :D

As I re-read this writing, I’ve been drawing my own lines. Now, at the end of this post, a diagonal line it is.

Written by Elfira Y S

February 14th, 2009 at 3:58 pm

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no sería lo mismo

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May I take your order? Yes, please. One Lipton Ice Tea Sparkling. Sorry, Mam. We just have regular Lipton Ice Tea, would you like that? ….. No, thank you. Not without the sparkling.

no es lo mismo..

Written by Elfira Y S

September 19th, 2008 at 1:43 am

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How to deal with it: lock your room from the inside, through the window throw away the key, and just stay there.

Written by Elfira Y S

September 18th, 2008 at 2:09 am

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