Oh, I do love a good writing challenge and this one may as well have thrown me a curve ball. I’ve never been to New York City, much less Radio City, but felt a flash fiction story inevitably arising. So, for the following photo, the story comes in at 199 words.
Without further ado, here is the story titled Yeah, Radio City.
Yeah, well, the stage – not as big as I thought, I’ve found. Radio City, in all its glitz and glamour and history, is magic, no doubt. But its size? I expected so much grander. Like at least the size of a good ocean liner or a carnival cruise ship. Something sizeable. This little nit-picky stage is supposed to hold the Rockets, for God’s sake.
When my turn came, it was just me. And I tore up that stage. I danced. The singing was an aside to my spectacular moves. I was a Radio City Goddess – a legend. I made more out of the small space than Britney Spears on Ecstasy. I ripped that floor a new one and named it after myself. If fireworks had been attached to my heels, they’d have fired me to the moon.
I wrecked that stage like I was Rommel in the desert. I blasted the tunes and couldn’t keep my boots still. That was about the edge of the gambit. And the very short stage.
When I got up off the audience floor, the applause was worth the broken collar bone. I swore I’d never dance Radio City again. Until my next performance.