This is a rewrite of a first-draft flash fiction piece I shared here on my blog a couple of weeks back. I pared that piece down and killed a few darlings along the way. I was motivated to rewrite when a member of my critique group said, “I think you have something here, but please get rid of the cliches.” I decided to cut everything except the dialogue to make the piece as lean as possible. Hopefully, it’s not too lean!

Happy Sunday, my friends.

Baby Shoes

“I hate it here, Mom. I wish we’d never moved.”

“I get it. It’s tough coming to a new place.”

“Especially since we now live two hours from Dad.”

“I know, honey. I’m so sorry that Dad and I –.”

“Right now I’m a lot more worried that nobody wants to be my friend.”

“Not one person?”

“Okay, one, but nobody likes him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the size of a second grader.”

“You mean he’s small for his age?”

“Not small. Tiny.”

“Can you put yourself in his shoes?

“His little baby shoes?”

“Okay, yes, in those tiny shoes.”

“And?”

“And imagine how he feels?”

“I don’t have to imagine. I know.”

“And how is that?”

“Lonely as hell.”

“Maybe you could ask him some random question and see if he’s an okay guy.”

“Like what?”

“Like did he grow up here or move here like you did.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

“But what if he doesn’t give me an answer?”

“Then at least you’ll know you tried, right?”

“Right.”

“Now go get your jacket. I think we both deserve pizza.”

“Is that a bribe so I’ll be nice to that kid, Mom?”

“No, it’s a reward. It’s hard starting a new life.”

“Truth.”