Thank you, lovely writers! I asked you for silliness, and silliness you did provide. Thank you everyone, for making me laugh hard enough that there was nearly a small incident involving a very full coffee cup and electronics. Here’s your prompt once again:
And without further ado, here are your #QUICKFIC Flash Fiction Competition winners:
Runner Up: Sarah Nash
A New Woman
“Enough is enough,” Jane says to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Thirty years in the same firm and never noticed. I am fifty tomorrow. Time for action. I shall take the morning off.”
“Never see you on a weekday,” says Tracey at Cut and Dried. “Same as usual?”
“I rather fancy going pink,” says Jane.
Tracey nearly drops her scissors, but seasoned pro as she is, rallies immediately.
“All over or just a touch?”
An hour later Jane strides, pink-rinsed, down her local high street. To her surprise, no-one laughs.
She decides (who is this new woman?) she needs a new face to go with the new hair and finds herself in the cosmetics hall of her local department store.
“Can I help?” asks an elegant woman.
“I wish I knew,” answers Jane honestly and submits.
On the way out, mascara-laden, she feels as if two spiders have landed on her eyes and tries not to blink in case they wreak havoc over her face. She pauses in shoe sales and remembers a survey (French of course) that stated women are more successful if they wear lipstick and heels. She licks her shiny lips and shops.
At noon precisely, Jane strides into Mr Carter’s office. (In reality, she teeters.)
He looks terrified.
She is Modesty Blaise, Wonder Woman, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She is unstoppable.
“I want a promotion and a raise. Enough is enough!”
Winner: Mary Thompson
John Coltrane, he is not
My beau’s penchant is the saxophone, and every Friday, after dinner and a small glass of Malbec, we retire upstairs where he extracts his instrument and begins to play. I want to be seen as a supportive lover so I perch on the end of the bed and murmur words of encouragement while he balances his sax on his extended belly, blowing into it as though it were a breathalyser. John Coltrane, he is not.
One day I’m on the top deck of the 133 with a banging hangover when he calls.
‘Not feeling well,’ I murmur. ‘Mixed my drinks and didn’t eat.’ And my head lolls back on the seat.
‘Hang on a second,’ he says.
Almost immediately I hear the sax. Its nail-hammering tones are so loud a baby starts wailing at the back of the bus. I try to switch the phone off but drop it under the seat and the screen smashes.
’Fuck!’ I scream, but he keeps on playing, even after I’ve exited the bus and staggered the five minutes to my flat, run a bath and watched the bubbles rise, dropped the phone on the floor again, submerged myself in the bubbles, lowered my head under the water so I can’t hear the damn thing any more, only I can as the crazy, fucked-up noise reverberates right through the bath tub.
Until finally, eventually he stops.
‘How was that?’ he asks, as I pick up the phone with a soapy hand.
Congratulations to Mary and Sarah! With that, I’ll send you all on your way for another week.
For a look back at our previous #QUICKFIC flash fiction competitions, click here.