Flash Fiction


SHIPS THAT PISS IN THE NIGHT by Elle Matheuse

When I was about twelve, I was friends with this girl, Heather. She was my ‘best’ friend for a short while. I’m not sure why. Heather was always laughing, mostly at other people, and didn’t really care much for thinking beyond her freckly nose. She could be fun when she forgot to be a cow.

I was much more despondent and morose than Heather, although I learnt to hide it well when she was at her most vicious. When life got tough for Heather she’d remain positive, I’ll give her that. Sure, sometimes she was only positive that she was much better than everyone else because everyone else was a fat fucking moron, but generally, she laughed her way through life. I cried a lot. I wonder what we saw in each other.

One day, having sat through some quite forceful attempts to collect her little brother’s farts in a plastic bottle – for experimental purposes, she claimed – I tentatively asked Heather if she thought people were born either happy or sad, you know, in their core. She shruggedly said “Yep. Stupid question. Next!”. I then asked if she thought she’d been born happy or sad, deftly illustrating which camp I felt I belonged to with my sobbing face and broken demeanour. She replied “Happy! Duh!” and continued brutalising her powerless brother, ignoring my clumsy cry for help.

I later found out that Heather began involuntarily pissing herself from about the age of eleven, so I guess it’s all just swings and roundabouts.

By Elle Matheuse, copyright 2008. All rights reserved.





Flash Fiction