I am very pleased to be able to share a new story of mine with you called The Worry Dolls which is up today on Literally Stories. I hope you enjoy it, and I’d love to hear what you think of it, here or over on the Literally Stories site.
Claire was lost. There was a fire bell ringing somewhere, but she couldn’t find her way out. Each direction she chose led to another bare corridor filled with rows of closed doors, just like the last. There were no exit signs, no windows, no other people. The lighting was dim and the walls pale grey, like wet concrete. In a blind panic, she carried on running. There must be a staircase around here somewhere, she thought. I have to get out of here. But where am I?
Claire woke with the sudden realisation that her doorbell was ringing, and must have been so for some time. The insistence of its tone told her the caller was not going away. Confused, she dragged herself from her bed, swiping away damp hair stuck to the side of her face. She tripped on an empty wine bottle and lumbered through the doorway. A policeman broke down the front door at that moment.
The arrest was a relief. It was time to stop running.
Further A-Z adventures of Candice, the serial dater.
For those who missed her previous adventures, they can be found here:
After two years of life with Toby, Candice had had enough. But how could she break it off with him? Candice was sure he would be distraught- inconsolable perhaps. Dumping him was going to be difficult, but that would be the easy part. Extricating him from her flat would be the tougher challenge. ‘Flash Toby’ as he had come to be nicknamed by her friends, had well and truly got his feet under the table.
Granted, in the beginning his generosity and taste for the finer things in life had been attractive and exciting. Hotel weekends in stunning locations, meals in the best restaurants, lavish gifts and a taste for fast cars. It wasn’t long before he had moved in, and Candice dared to hope he could be ‘the one’ she had been looking for all this time. Just thinking back to those hedonistic early days of the relationship however, Candice cringed at how easily she had got swept up with it all, ignoring all the warning signs and her own better judgement.
Keeping their finances separate would clearly have been the more sensible choice, but Toby had insisted they open a joint bank account as a step towards their future together. Love had blinded Candice to Toby’s inability to live within their means at first, but spending £800 of their money on a robotic hoover had been a tipping point from which she could see no return. Men like Toby would never change. No, she was certain that today must be the day to tell him the party was finally over.
Once the decision she had been agonising over all day was made, Candice mixed herself an extra large gin and tonic and settled herself on the sofa to await his return from work. Perhaps he would cry and promise to change she thought with a twinge of sadness, wondering what was taking him so long.
Quickly downing her drink, Candice stood up as she heard a car pull up outside. Releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding as he opened the door, she steeled herself for ‘the talk’. Sooner rather than later would be best all round.
“Toby, there’s something we need to talk about,” she began as he took off his coat.
“Unless it’s how you plan to thank me for the gift I’ve got for us, it can wait,” he said grinning like a child with a new toy.
“Very thoughtful as ever I’m sure. What is it?”
“X6, convertible, the latest BMW,” he said dangling a set of keys in front of her nose.
“Yeah, I guess it can wait, let’s go for a spin!”
Zooming along with the wind in her hair, Candice decided there would be plenty of time to talk, another day.
Header image courtesy of Pixabay.com. And I am aware the picture is probably not a BMW X6, but I liked the cute dog 🙂
Here are two more flashes I had hanging about… enjoy!
When Geoff goes on his golfing weekends, I leave the front door on the latch for Roger from number sixteen.
I take a long bath with scented oils and candles, shave my legs, and massage my skin with cocoa butter. The cat is shut out, carpets vacuumed and bedding changed. The sport biographies and loose change are tidied away from Geoff’s side of the bed. When everything is ready, I put the vase of plastic tulips in the front window. That’s the signal he’ll be looking out for; our secret code. I lie in bed and wait.
I remember being so anxious that Roger must lock the door. Not any more. The idea that Geoff could return early, his trip curtailed by an attack of golfer’s elbow, makes the whole thing that much more of a thrill. You have to take them where you can get them at my age.
The Thrill of the Chase
Frank lingered near to the bus stop, carefully assessing each person who waited there. It was the usual set of bored commuters. None paid Frank any attention as he skulked by a litter bin, except for the man in the blue puffer jacket who gave him a suspicious sideways glance, before turning back to his mobile phone. There was one woman with a smell of bacon sandwiches about her who carried a cloth bag, but Frank could tell there was nothing in there that would interest him.
Shivering in the chill January air, Frank wished again that he had his new red coat. In his haste to leave the house, he had paid no heed to the weather. Just then, a gritter lorry passed by, coating the icy pavement in a layer of salt. Frank barked and ran after it. He could never resist a good chase.
‘You must never hit a girl, or anyone smaller than you,’ his mother had drilled into him as a boy. The advice had always sounded odd to Felix, who would no more consider hitting a girl, than he would speak to one. Perhaps it was that he had seen enough confrontation at home. ‘Your Father and I don’t get along very well any more,’ his Mother had said, which had seemed a somewhat inadequate version of the truth, even to his eight-year-old ears. Or maybe violence was just not part of his nature. Whatever the reason, Felix knew that he preferred to avoid the possibility of conflict at all costs.
It wasn’t until the advanced age of thirty-seven that he first hit a man. That man was his wife’s cousin, Jonathan.
Jonathan was something of an expert at fixing computers, according to Felix’s wife, Clara. Jonathan also knew about the unblocking of sinks, the laying of loft insulation and the installation of additional plug sockets. Felix knew about coronal mass ejections and their effect on space weather systems, but he conceded that he did not know how to rid their home computer of the virus it was infected with. He was glad his wife had such a useful relative, one who lived so close by and was so happy to help.
Felix returned home that lunchtime to pick up his forgotten sandwich. Clara was at the kitchen sink, rinsing some glasses. Jonathan stood behind her, his hand unmistakably inside her blouse, cupping her right breast. It was quickly removed as Felix entered the room, and there was a moment when they all stopped, and waited for Felix to react, or to say nothing and to do whatever he had come back to do, and go on his way. When his fist connected with jaw, nobody was as surprised as Felix himself. Still, Jonathan had a good three inches on him in height, so he reasoned that his actions were entirely justified.
This story is a longer version of a flash I entered into the Ad Hoc Fiction contest a couple of weeks ago. I think this longer version works a bit better. Hope you enjoyed reading it. 🙂
Header image courtesy of Pixabay
Sorry it has been a bit quiet on here of late.
I thought I would share two little pieces here to brighten up your Wednesday, and would love to know what you think of them. I seem to write a lot of hapless male characters. I don’t know what that says about me, or the men I know!
To Fall at the First Moustache
Eric strode up to the reception desk of the large office building and announced his presence. He flashed his winning smile at the seated man, who regarded him with indifference. Eric was thirty minutes early for the interview, but reasoned that this would demonstrate organisation, punctuality and general suitability for the role of Financial Controller of Smithstone and Hasselbach, major players in the sanitaryware industry.
The seated man wore a moustache so large, it could have been employed as a draft excluder in a previous existence. It was impossible to see his lips move as he muttered something derisory in Eric’s direction.
“I’m sorry, what did you say? I’m here for the interview.”
“I’m sure you are sir, but the office you require is at the other end of the street. I say office, its more of a portacabin really. Good luck finding it!” He shouted at Eric’s retreating form.
Russell glanced at his watch. He was pleased to see that he was a full twenty minutes early for the café meeting, giving him a decided advantage and the chance to assess the lie of the land before she arrived. He took out his laptop and ran over his list of essential criteria and specifications one more time, and tapped the business card holder in his breast pocket. With time to spare, he sat back to sip his coffee.
Ten minutes later, she burst into the room like a bulldog released from a leash, surveying the assembled patrons with wide-eyed excitement. Her cheeks were reddened, and large sweat patches were visible at her chest and underarm areas. He recognised her instantly from her online photograph. Noting that she had failed on point eight of his essentials list, he slipped unnoticed from his chair and left by the back exit.
©Rebecca Field 2017
Header image courtesy of Pixabay
A Flash Fiction piece of mine has been published here today at Flash Fiction Magazine, please check it out if you get a chance!