WRITING CHALLENGE | FLASH FICTION

Falling for the Moons of Jupiter Under the Apple Tree

An inauspiciously named romantic confesses his affections

I’m always up for a challenge, whether in life or writing, so when I read the details of Paul Combs’ first writing prompt of 2024, I knew I was up against a good one.

Combs’ complicated construct, flash fiction writing challenge

“In 600 words or less, write a story that includes an Oscar Wilde quote, the title of an Alice Munro story, two lines from any Edna St. Vincent Millay poem, two words you did not know previously, an obscure line from a favourite song, and an unusual Main Character name.”- Paul Combs.

How’s that for some tricky parameters?

I had more fun with Combs’ challenge than from any I can recall recently. From the research to the characters that appeared and weaving in the prerequisites, I smiled as my fingertips smacked the keyboard, creating my answer. Combs’ reference material was so thick with daydreamy prose that I employed more than was required as the scene and setting begged to proclaim.

After the story, I added a shortlist of writers who I think would do marvellously with this prompt. If they, or you (reader), choose to participate, please tag me so I can follow along!

And now, the story;

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” I said, lying under the apple tree.

“Oh, why do you think of things to say at times like this?” she complained, lips plump from kissing. Rolling off my chest and into the hollow of my side, Jóhanna continued her grievance. “You could have talked as much as you liked during the drive — two hours! But you only wanted to listen to me!”

Her arms shot up ramrod straight, and her hands, lengthy, slender, and elegant with pianist’s fingers carrying the essence of song, strained to the heavens. “Or, during the hike to this gorgeous, ridiculously romantic, untended orchard next to a brook spilling with miniature waterfalls, you could have spoken, yet you remained nearly mute, with only your eyes saying volumes, watching my astonishment of this place.”

She was the greyest girl I’d ever seen. Her skin looked like porcelain washed by the sea, and her hair, flat and straight, hung to the middle of her back, was the colour of a granite shadow beneath a glacier. Two beige mountain peaks resting atop a pink bed shaped her small mouth, and like the rock, she looked formidable and unapproachable. Fortunately, Jóhanna was one of those women who looked beautiful when unimpressed.

Her lamenting melody continued, “And then the way you kiss! I feel like I’m the only thing that could satisfy your hunger! What choice timing you have to start a conversation!”

I propped up on an elbow and gazed at her long, straight body, which had no more curves than a plank of pine but was as beguiling as a belly dancer, nonetheless. “What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten…”

“…ooh, you’re a scoundrel! A monster just as your father named you, Frankenstein Fabrizi! I knew this when you continued to tease, taunt and court me, playing bold with sugary bravado and shy in the shadows. Now, you give me such words!”

“My sweetest Jóhanna, they are not my words but those of the great American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. But as Oscar Wilde said, ‘The very essence of romance is uncertainty.’”

“To think I survived the pandemic, only to end up with you as a plague upon my heart! Go on then, say what was so eager to leave your lips rather than hold my kiss.”

“Only that I love you,” I said with my most earnest countenance, hoping to illuminate Jóhanna’s slate-grey eyes. But, in those moons of Jupiter, I saw questioning dread.

Her answer came hushed but hard, “Why would you love me? I am absolutely the plainest girl in the world. My skin is the colour of ash; I’m much too tall and flat-chested. I was born without hues in my hair or colour in my eyes. I’m not a woman men want — I am a ghost.”

For me, Jóhanna was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. In her frailty and her steel, her felicificative grace and shyness, there was no barring the power of her femineity. “‘Aye, ’tis a curious fancy — but all the good I know was taught to me out of two grey eyes a long time ago.”

“Tell me,” She said, “If you are inspired to give me such treacly endearments, what can I offer you?”

It was a fine day for quoting greatness, and my answer arrived in the verse of Freddie Mercury. “Jóhanna, I have but ‘one goal, one vision — gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, fried chicken.’”

AN: I think Patrick Metzger, Sarah Paris, Nevena Pascaleva, Jojo Teckina, Amy Sea, Robin Christine Honigsberg and JA Vassili and would do great with Paul Combs’s prompt. Remember to tag me if you give it a shot!

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