Whispering Secrets to the World (Flash Fiction)

She’d been keeping it secret for so long, and she wasn’t really sure why any longer. At one point in her life, her fears of rejection wouldn’t have been unfounded. But now… now things were different. There was no reason not to tell them. Except that finding the right words were difficult.

No. The words were easy enough. It would only take three. It wasn’t finding the right words to say. It was finding the right time to tell them. Finding the right time to reveal everything.

All of her friends knew of course. They’d known for years. There was only a small group of people left to tell. The most important group of people.

The people whose reactions meant everything to her.

And she was a coward.

Because what if they didn’t accept her?

What if they held it against her?

Even though they lived hundreds of miles away, it was their reactions she feared.

And it was stupid. She had no reason to expect they wouldn’t support her.

No reason to expect they wouldn’t love her unconditionally.

And she was being incredibly hypocritical. Just over a year ago she’d expressed how hurt she was that one of them would think that she would reject them. That she wouldn’t accept their life changes. Ones that were much larger and much more terrifying than what she was going to admit to them.

It would be easier to tell them, to not have to worry about them accidentally discovering it on their own. She should just tell them. Rip off the Band-Aid and then go hide away for a time. Just in case.

A large part of her didn’t want to tell them anything in case it came to nothing. I mean, there’s at least a fifty-percent chance that the news will never affect them. That they would never actually need to know. Probably much larger than a fifty-percent chance.

But in case anything came of it, they should know right?

She should just tell them.

If she waited until there was actually something to tell them, it might come as an enormous shock. Not might. Would.

She should warn her parents that one day she might call one of them up and say, “Mom, I have a girlfriend, and I really, really like her.”

At the age of six, Eliza was certain of two things. The first was that she had stories to tell. The second was that she had no talent for illustrating them herself. Talent or no, she still wrote and illustrated her first book, one that should be located and locked away if only to prevent her parents from embarrassing her terribly by showing it off alongside baby pictures. Now she spends her days writing stories that she isn't embarrassed to show off after a little bit of polishing.

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