In my creative writing group, I completed a "flash fiction" exercise meant to hone word efficiency skills. The exercise is to write a story in 500 words. As opposed to a vignette, flash fiction is an entire story. There is a conflict, a climax, and resolution. Something changes. You first write the story and then cut it to 500 words. The exercise teaches you to aggressively cut unnecessary parts and keep only what is important. Mine came in at exactly 500.
Lock & Sock
Ian sunk his head in despair. He was supposed to get probation, but the judge handed him a two-year prison sentence. He almost shook with fear on the ride home. His dad said nothing.
Ian was terrified of prison. He didn't want to be a punk. He started doing pushups that night. He boxed in his teens, until he discovered drugs. He wasn't in shape like he was back then. He vowed to improve in the two months before he began his sentence.
Ian quit drinking and doing drugs. He started to lift weights and train at his old boxing gym. Coach warmly welcomed him back. Ian went right to work shadowboxing, hitting the bag, jumping rope, etc.
After a week, Ian asked to spar.
"You been here a week," Coach argued. "You not in shape."
Ian persisted. Coach agreed to two rounds. Ian did well exchanging jabs during the first minute. He slowed down in the second minute. By the third minute, he could barely keep his hands up. His partner knocked him dizzy with a right hand on the chin. Ian wobbled and almost lost his legs. Coach stopped them, refusing a second round.
Ian was frustrated. He needed to improve quicker. The next day at the gym, he asked to spar again.
"What are you trying to prove?" Coach asked.
"I just want to jump back in fast," Ian lied. Ian tried to spar every single day the gym was open, even if the only potential partners were heavyweights. He improved. Coach could not understand what had gotten into Ian. Then one day he never saw him again.
After turning himself in, Ian was being transferred to a medium-security facility in an orange jumpsuit and leg irons. Did the jumpsuit make him look skinny? On the bus, a fat redneck named Frank started a conversation. Ian didn't want to make friends and stared out the window in nervous anticipation. After a few hours, the bus entered his new home inside a hundred-foot fence topped with three layers of razor wire.
Ian and Frank were led to a gymnasium-sized dorm room that housed over seventy inmates. They slept in iron bunks spaced ten feet from each other. Sizing up the proximity of the inmates and the vibe of the crowd, Ian realized this may be more violent than he anticipated. Ian and Frank were shown their bunk; Ian took the bottom.
In the middle of the first night, Ian was unpleasantly woken up by four visitors swinging socks filled with combination locks on Frank. As soon as he heard the violence, Ian jumped out of his bed, ready to fight. The attackers barely glanced at Ian and continued. They were smiling. Almost as soon as it had started, it finished as each member of the war party slipped back into their bunks. Frank received mostly body shots and there was no visible blood.
Ian went back to bed. Ian thought to himself, smiling, "I'm going to be fine."
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