Silence by Guy Yasko

The couple exits the lobby and its Christmas music and steps into the
grey. They cut across the parking lot and disappear into a row of
snow-coated cedars. They follow the path between fields, past empty
lodges. The sky darkens. They stop.

— When are you coming back?

He stares at horses in the field beyond the fence. The horses are
completely still. How do they stand the cold?

— Do you love me?

He looks at her and sees the snow falling on her hot cheek. He resists
the urge to brush it off.


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Filed under Guy Yasko

13 responses to “Silence by Guy Yasko

  1. So short, and yet so much said with just a few words.

  2. Actions speak louder than words. Pensive mood. Perfect. Peace…

  3. Al McDermid

    So tender and melancholy. ‘He resists the urge to brush it off.’ is so tell, and ends it perfectly.

    • guy

      Just so you know, Al, for me the snowy landscape is somewhere in the Yatsugatake in January.

      I think this was influenced by a couple of the more obscure Naruse movies that i translated.

  4. Nice. The quickness of movement through the quiet background, really nice.

  5. “…brush it off.” I have a pretty certain idea of what comes next.

    And is there any image that captures silence quite so well as snow falling at night?

    • guy

      These days there is always snow in my field of vision. It’s bound to work itself into the writing somehow. I was worried that it might be a tad too appropriate and therefore too obvious & overused. I went with it because i don’t trust my gut instincts.

      Thank you all for the reads & comments.

  6. Kim Hutchinson

    The silence that speaks volumes. Very powerful ending.

  7. The white, empty space is used so craftily in this, the pared down details, just enough. Dazzling, and daunting.

  8. A flash of still, cold beauty. Thank you.

  9. kelly

    nice weighty compact little piece, think it expands in the telling so well because it evokes the familiar

  10. stephen

    i like this.
    i like the way it stages attention gaps (on his part) in the interaction in a way that allows readers to project their own back stories and so to turn them into other types of distance in the way that an amplifier turns one type of signal into another.

  11. Pingback: Week #32 – Silence | 52|250 A Year of Flash

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