It Was

Flash fiction
February 23, 2015

It was all perfect. It was all as it was meant to be. All was as expected and right and good. It was made through long, careful planning and there was nothing that had gone unexpected. It was all just the way it should be. There was a cloud, as there should be, a pond, as expected, a small village, as we all knew there had to be, and cute, non-harmful people spread around the streets in the exact formation they carried through in the days before.

Yes, just as it needed to be.

And chaos, randomness, distortion, and destruction were all banned from this. There was no right way those could fit in when the rest already stood so brilliantly. There was only one way it could all remain and it was exactly as it currently was, and previously had been. No one should move a finger. Not in this perfect place.

The postman was bringing out mail to the old lady with the cat, purring idly on the windowsill, watching the policeman who was strolling idly across the street, whistling to himself as he passed the truck carrying tomatoes to the small vegetable seller on the side of the road by the inn, where a fancy couple were spending their vacation in peace and quiet, just across the park where children were running, playing games, and laughing.

Yes, it was beyond a doubt, the way things should remain forever. There was no reason to move anything, no reason to see how time would progress the world, no reason to see how, if the children stopped dead and looked over at the couple in the inn, they would see the vegetable seller yell at the truck for swerving by the side of the road because the policeman had stopped in the middle when he had heard the old lady scream as she read the newspaper she got from the postman.

No reason to worry about the news. Not today.

Please don't. It was all perfect.


I'm pretty happy with this one. It was the first one where I felt really clueless before I started writing anything, but the first sentence: "It was all perfect." was just too obvious. Something's bound to be wrong. So the only question left was... what? I knew it had to be subtle, and I didn't want to tell it outright, but still show that something was pretty bad. The village motif just sort of happened, I guess that's what I think of when I think of perfection?