by Lyle Rosdahl
The Current, in case you haven’t noticed, has changed its online content format slightly. Hence the delay in Flash Fiction. As of now, I’ll be publishing one piece a month. But keep sending your work in. If I get more, I’ll push for more posts. And make sure you’re clicking on the stories and reading them more than once. This is good stuff for the Current and for you. Show them you appreciate it (leave a comment, too).
This month we have a short piece about loss and the strange possibilities of finding (this piece itself, for example). I think flash is an excellent vessel to showcase how much we all lose and find everyday. “Lost and found” often conjures up visions of missing keys or lost phones or other high value items, but it can refer to so much more. The loss of innocence is perhaps a little on the nose; how about the loss of hair or the loss of that sharp wit you were always known for? What about the loss of your sense of humor? Surely not.
Enjoy what you find here. Enjoy what you lose.
Around my neighborhood in New York I’ve seen a number of flyers lately that read: “LOST DOG. MALE, 3 YEAR OLD, SHIH TZU. Answers to ROCKSTAR.” There is a picture of Rockstar on the flyer, a small dog with long silky hair that covers it’s eyes. I called my friend BB and told him about the flyer. Listening carefully to all of the details that I provided about the dog, BB then asked for the phone number listed on the flyer. I figured he would keep an eye out and maybe ask around to see if anyone had seen Rockstar. A few days later BB called back and told me he saw Rockstar. "Did you call the owner?” I asked. “Of course I did!” BB responded. “Wow, I bet he was relieved!” I exclaimed. “Well, not exactly.” BB said. I immediately assumed the worst: Perhaps Rockstar had been run over flat like a pancake by the New York Post truck. “What did you say to him?” I asked.
BB explained: “Well I called and said that I had seen Rockstar. And when the owner asked where I had seen the dog I told him I saw him in Texas, crowd-surfing at a Guns N’ Roses concert. The best part though,” BB continued, “was what the owner said. After I was done there was a pause on the other end. Then the owner shrieked: ‘That’s ridiculous! Rockstar HATES Guns N’ Roses!’ And then he hung up on me.”
I don’t know if Rockstar was ever found. But whenever I think about him now, I imagine him as a roadie for a heavy metal band touring the world. Sticking his head out of the tour bus, Rockstar takes in the sights and sounds while his tongue hangs freely. He reflects on the life he use to have while humming Bob Seger’s song, Turn The Page. And then he thinks to himself: “This is home.”
You can read more of Danny Herrera’s work on his blog.
Lyle Rosdahl, a writer living in San Antonio, edits the flash fiction blog & best of in print for the Current. He created, facilitates and participates in Postcard Fiction Collaborative, a monthly flash fiction response to a photo. You can see more of his work, including photos, paintings and writing, at lylerosdahl.com.
Send your flash to email@example.com.