Who Created Flash Fiction?

Theophrastus

Many believe Chekhov created the modern-day short story. But, I am referring to who created the "micro-story" later renamed as "flash fiction?"

Let me introduce Theophrastus.

The man from ancient Greece. His friends were Aristotle and Plato. He was best known as the Godfather of botany.

When Theophrastus wasn't writing about plants he wrote about people. His book on character sketches is called "Characters." A study in micro-fiction. The art of developing a character and telling a story in several paragraphs.

Theophrastus also regarded space as the mere arrangement and position of bodies. Time as an accident of motion, and motion as a necessary consequence of all activity. In ethics, he regarded happiness as depending on external influences as well as on virtue.

Based on Theophrastus' "Shameless Man" 

Tool--a character sketch

I got an apartment with a guy nicknamed, "Tool". The roommate with the idea to move his crushed velvet crib into an upscale neighborhood. Near where Mary Tyler Moore lived, the city of lakes in Minneapolis. From this vantage point, Tool thought we could score on "chicks" that hung out at the lakes. Impress people that we were going places. At the time, Tool referred to anyone in a skirt as "chicks and babes."

The apartment was a three-bedroom and I rented one.

Tool's face was marked by a port-wine-stain birthmark, which left a chip on his shoulder - against God. His temperament with reality was thinning like his hair. To draw attention away from his face, he wore loud clothes - crushed red velvet pants. Blue suede shoes and silk shirts unbuttoned to expose the hair on his chest. His favorite outfit was a look-a-like Saturday Night Fever disco suit. From pictures on the wall to stereo speakers covered in velvet, thick and thin.

He also liked to associate himself with those he considered to be VIPs, and he masqueraded as a success.

Family money paid his rent. Bought his clothes. And got him a black Lincoln Continental car, which he drove around while high on cocaine. The Bee Gees on 8-track. His goal in life was to be an insurance underwriter. But when he got caught lying about a college degree fired and never found another job in the field. Frustrated, he worked out his personality disorder on conga drums. Plotted to rob and bully people.

I tried to keep my distance from his alcoholic brother. He had a nagging problem of climbing through my bedroom window. In the middle of the night in search of a bottle or money. When I didn't have what he wanted he'd resort to drunken threats and shook me upside down until my wallet fell out.

Tool, in a fit of psychotic rage. Stole my library card, checked out two dozen rare and expensive books, and hid them beneath his bed. I returned the books to face hundreds of dollars in fines.

"No one steals a library card!" the librarian shook, filled with skepticism.

He also stole a checkbook from another roommate. Wrote bad checks for whatever pleased him. Like the time he wanted a kitchen table. Finding an ad in the paper, he hit on a retired couple and parted with their furniture. One trick was putting utility bills in your name. Asking for payment, then keeping the money - which he gambled away on Sunday football.

When he was on a high, he loved my guitar playing; when down, he threatened to bash me over the head with it. The only thing that kept his anger in check was his father's prescription for Percodan.

The upside to living with the Tool was he often left to stay with his enabling parents. While he was gone I could access his closet and wear his shoes and other garments that were my size. His leather jacket, gold necklace, and purple suede platform shoes looked good on me.

On Saturday nights, Tool would roll out his Lincoln, and we'd headed for the discos. I always feared though that upon rejection by women he would get angry and leave me stranded.

Tool bore his birthmark like a curse. The purple-colored mark covered half of his face. Straight down the middle from the top of his forehead, over his nose, down to his chin. I thought he resembled the character - Joker. The insane criminal who tormented Batman. Unfortunately for Tool, most women gave him the cold shoulder.

He did have one small advantage; he had good dance floor moves. As long as the lights remained low his partner couldn't see his face.

One night we strolled in under the spinning mirror ball to a table of two women.

"Like what it is, what it is babe, how about we boogie on down, you know?" Tool shook his hips like Elvis Presley.

The women nodded yes and we hit the dance floor. Tool jumped up and down, landing in a split. He threw in a couple of Kung Fu moves, too. We danced through an extended mix of "Funkytown" then walked the gals back to the table.

"Looo-king gooood," Tool said. "For-sho," the women chimed.

Tool sat down and offered to buy a drink for his dance partner. At that moment, all the white lights in the room flashed on and she got a good look at him.

"Like, I'm sorry, my boyfriend will be back soon, you know." She ducked off.

After the women left, Tool rubbed his curse like it was coming alive and crawling all over him. I thought he might pull out a Joker card, leave it at the table, and end up bombing the place.

We left the table where the scene had repeated itself 12 more times with different women.

"Tool, it's not happening here," I pleaded. "Let's go somewhere hipper."

On the way back to his Lincoln he tore off the antenna on every car for the next two blocks.