Flash Fiction: The Numbers Game

by Mitchell Dyer

Sympathy wasn’t usually Ivy’s thing, but she was there for me when Bishop died. We spent most of that day just sitting on the couch. I played sad songs on the guitar ’til my fingers started to blister, she watched some wedding show on TV. She was a warm, welcoming shoulder to cry on.

“I know you didn’t like him,” I said.

“I hated that fucking dog.”

“Yeah, you did.”

She hugged me a little harder and we dozed off.

I was happy to still have one friend left.


Limitation was clutch in this week’s flash fiction challenge at Terrible Minds. Three of the 100 words were already in place. Forcing specific words into a story is still strange to me. It’s a weird place to write from, feels hokey, but it’s a clever wrench in the gears.