When Peggy McFarland first began writing, she found a site called Six Sentences. “All stories had to be complete in six sentences,” McFarland said. “The owner of the site printed all submissions for the first couple years. It gave me a confidence boost.” Over time, she discovered other sites including Three Word Wednesdays and Friday Flash on Twitter—two groups of flash writers who posted stories each week. All the writers would read others’ stories and leave comments. “It was a way for me to write weekly, share my stories, and read others and share comments,” McFarland told us. “I learned to hone my words from these three places. It was the community aspect that got me into flash fiction.”

For McFarland, the process of saying the most you can in the least amount of words not only provides the challenge of writing it but also writing it well.

“I entered the competition in 2017, and yes, I was nervous! The local qualifying round was among people I knew from the monthly writers meet-up, so that wasn’t so terrifying—the Nashua group is a supportive group,” she said.  “I think I practiced reading my piece aloud for over a week, and the day of the competition I spent hours trying to read and get the beats right for the stage part. I don’t quite remember the actual reading—lol.” McFarland was the first-place winner of the Three Minute Fiction Slam that year.

McFarland’s story was about the break-up of a marriage, paralleled by the disintegration of a banner on the morning commute. You can read it below this article.

Of late, McFarland’s primary writing focus has been writing a novel. Who knows, we might see her back in the Flash Fiction Slam sometime in the future.

THE COMMUTE

by Peggy McFarland

MONDAY 

The white sheet quivered from the overpass. Instead of a soldier’s ‘welcome home,’ shaky hopeful letters greeted commuter traffic with: Tara, Will You Marry Me? –Mike.

For once, a Monday promised a new beginning rather than the dreaded monotony of routine. I envied the novelty of Tara’s romance, when foreplay still meant sensuous lingerie, rather than a swish of Listerine. I glanced at the rock on my finger, accepted in a restaurant after a bended-knee proposal, my ‘yes’ the cue for applause from an audience of diners. No applause for Tara, but I bet she was receiving many, many congratulations. I raised my travel mug, and toasted Tara and Mike.

TUESDAY

The sheet flapped in the breeze; the lower corner unstrung from the chain-link fencing. Had Tara said ‘yes?’ Surely, the banner would’ve been removed for a yes, and kept as a show-and-tell for future children. If, Tara and Mike agreed to have children. Or, would it be tucked away in a hope chest, similar to an engagement ring box and a yellowed menu? Only brought out late at night, while Tara waited for Mike to come home, her reminder that his emotions had once so overwhelmed him, that he’d professed his love in public.

At least Tara’s keepsake absorbed tears.

I swiped at my wet cheek. Tara probably took a long weekend, and hadn’t driven by her commuter proposal yet. At least her audience were disengaged witnesses, and she could take time to think about her answer.

WEDNESDAY

Overnight rain smeared the inky letters, eradicating an M. “Ike” now asked Tara to marry him. That figured. A bit of stormy weather, and the man receded into a stranger. The first letter for now, maybe the blurry last letter next, and then who would blame whom for losing “M” “E”?

Tara could read her sign, and consider the words on her sign, but….

Did she fully understand the message?

THURSDAY

The banner split! TARA, YOU, ME whipped and twisted around WILL, MARRY, IKE.  How could they allow their pending promise to be shredded over Route 3? Whether YES or NO, Tara and “Ike” needed to repair that sign.

Or, remove it.

FRIDAY

I flipped my rearview mirror to reflect the ceiling. My baggage stacked behind me; I started driving.

I chose a different route.

The End