The aroma of the oranges stopped me. The clamor and stink of the crowded market swirled around me, but the oranges smelled fresh and safely clean. I piled several in my hands.

I turned to see what caused a bump from behind me. A tiny flyspeck of a boy snatched my wallet and ran. I scattered oranges everywhere and ran after him. He led me down a narrow alley, his small body disappearing behind everything between us. I quickly . . .


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

12 thoughts on “Flyspeck”

  1. You know the type. Her mouth is in a permanent pucker, her eyebrows raised in a critical arc, her nose ever so slightly wrinkled. The words that come out of her mouth are socially correct, even civil. But every angle of her body, every slanted look of her eyes, screams disapproval. You know, when she enters the room, that she is instantly aware of the tiniest flyspeck, the merest smudge…

  2. Ack!!! Am I seeing things? In the time between beginning to write my “flyspot” bit and posting it, something happened to this website!

    The blog fairies have been here!

    It looks lovely, by the way.

  3. Thanks for writing about my Aunt Jean. Oops, I mean, thanks for writing. 🙂

    Yes, I changed the “theme,” which in WordPress is as easy as pressing a button. This one doesn’t have the tag line (the “Leave YOUR first 50 words in a comment”) so I’m not sure I like it. But I like the menu at the top, which I’m hoping counteracts the loss of the tagline.

  4. “Can’t make french toast outta flyspeck,” my grandaddy would say. I loved spending Saturday morning with him. We’d park in front of Mr. Parker’s bakery and get some donuts before walking over to the barber shop. I could never understand why he had to get his hair cut every week; there wasn’t enough on top of his shiny, bald head to litter the floor after “dark Charlie” was finished.

    Sorry, that was a little over 50 today. I really like this site!

  5. Having read your stuff and think of you as very talented, Peg, I take that as a real compliment. Thank you! 🙂

  6. I quickly darted between the pinball madness seeking him out in vain. I was more careful during that vacation in Thailand. And from time to time wondered if that market boy had brought those few Canadian dollars home to an ailing grandmother.

    Twenty-three years later my wonderment was answered in the post: His name was Pakpao. The message simply said: ‘forgive me.’ Below was an account number for one million dollars drawn on the Bank of Hongkong.

    I never heard from the little market boy again.

  7. I like your idea a lot. I utilize this writing technique in my therapy groups. It is a healing technique for people recovering from a variety of life traumas.


An open space for your story

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s