Flash Fiction

“Ellen, may I speak with you?”

Shuffling out of the classroom, Ellen turned back, puzzled about why Mrs. Harris asked her to stay. She had never been in trouble in all her nine years of school. With a glance at her best friend, Ellen returned to stand before the big cluttered desk. “Yes, Mrs. Harris?”

“I read your story today.” Greenish-brown eyes pierced through Ellen’s. “Lovely writing, I must tell you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harris.” Excited, Ellen wished she could run out the door and go tell her friends. She told them many times she wanted to be a writer.

Standing, her teacher wrapped an arm around her. “If you’re in trouble, sweetie, you can tell me. I can get help for you.”

Ellen frowned. “I’m not in trouble, Mrs. Harris.”

“It’s all right to tell me. I can make sure you stay safe.”

“But….” Ellen stammered. “I’m not.”

“And the girl in your story who doesn’t have a name? Isn’t that you?”

“No! It’s fiction. You said it should be fiction, right? It’s not true .”

“Come, Ellen, please tell me the truth.”

“But it is the truth. She doesn’t have a name because I wrote it in first person and no one in the story knows her name. Wasn’t that right?”

Taking her hand, Mrs. Harris led her to one of the desks and asked her to sit. Then she sat against the top of the one beside it, folding her hands on her lap as though praying. “Sweetie, the girl in your story was very real, wasn’t she? I think she was too real to be made up. Is she you or someone you know who needs help?”

“She isn’t real, though. You said it should be about someone solving a problem. That’s what she did.”

Mrs. Harris sighed, a long sigh that made Ellen sad for her. “I think I will come see you tonight with your parents. Would that be all right?”

Ellen stopped arguing, hoping her parents would listen. One thing she knew for sure: she wouldn’t write from first person point of view again.