Flash Fiction I

Four times during the course of my class we distributed flash fiction (1 page, 300-500 words). We each bring in enough copies to share with everyone in the class (the professor brings one of his own as well, and sometimes a ringer), which are randomly distributed. We read each of the stories, and then at the end try and guess who wrote which story. I don't know why we did that, but it was entertaining. The first flash fiction was the first day of class, which meant that I had to bring in homework (my first college homework in 11+ years), without having any sense of what the class, program, or other students were like. So I went for odd. I guess.

Jeremiah Finkelbom

Jeremiah Finkelbom was not a happy man. The source of his discontent had nothing to do with his name - Jeremiah Finkelbom - although that had certainly been the cause of many difficulties in his life. Today Jeremiah Finkelbom was agitated due to the actions of the man in front of him.

Jeremiah's response to this issue is one that had been perfected by generations of Finkelboms. Indignation, generally righteous, followed by an internal debate between the Finkelbom and the object of Finkelbom ire (the Finkelbom always winning the debate quite handily). Bouyed by the imaginary victory, the Finkelbom's indignation slowly heats to frustration, then to anger, and eventually to a white-hot rage.

And so, knowing that he had the higher ground against his adversary, both morally and literally (as it happened in this particular instance) Jeremiah turned and completed the centuries old Finkelbom ritual – he took a deep breath, straightened his jacket, and quite softly made a cutting remark about the vile person's choice of attire.

What some would view as cowardice the Finkelbom considered practicality, or in some cases muted bravery. While every society needs its heroes, it is also true that it cannot function without its Finkelboms. There are only so many heroes to choose from, and eventually the young ladies in a town will come to the realization that it is better to have a Finkelbom husband than no husband at all. It was truly glorious in times of war, when the Finkelboms (who had to stay away from the fighting due to flat feet, trick knees or weak wrists) were actually prized – a complete Finkelbom makes a much better spouse than a warrior who returns from battle with a limb shortage.

It is true that Jeremiah did not realize that his actions were part of an eons old ritual, but past generations of Finkelboms would have nodded their heads in agreement as he spoke, barely above a murmer, “I saw a homeless man on Seventh Street who wants his jacket back.” (It was certainly a Finkelbom who muttered to William Wallace, “I see that your mother let you wear your prom dress to the battle.”)

The target of this cutting remark, hearing something, looked around quizzically. Jeremiah merely stared straight ahead, exhibiting the practiced Finkelbom look that said I didn't say anything, I'm just standing here looking at the trees.

And so the victim walked away, knowing nothing about the gross indignity which he perpretrated upon Jeremiah Finkelbom, the terrible mental tongue lashing he received, or the harsh criticism of his choice of outerwear. Jeremiah smiled, having once again defeated a worthy foe, and continued on his way.