For the Australian Writers Centre monthly contest. Probably not a winner!
Sorry
“You know, I really feel like I should apologize to him,” Claire smoothed her sleek hair back and sighed.
“Well, these things always bring up a lot of feelings, I don’t think that’s unusual,” Maureen answered, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
Both women looked through the small clusters of people at the man in question.
Claire turned in her seat toward her friend. “Do you think I should?”
Maureen tipped her head. “I don’t know if it’s the right time.”
“Mo, they say it’s never too late to apologize.”
“Claire, it’s been years. His wife and kid are here.” She looked around at the slowly growing crowd. “And honestly? Sometimes it is too late.”
Claire frowned. “I just want him to know that I realize everything I put him through, and I’m sorry if he was upset about it.”
“He moved on. Wife, kid?”
“Actually, I’m not sure if he ever even knew I was cheating on him back then.”
“Then why on earth bring it up now, of all times?”
“I think it would just make me feel better about it, you know?”
“Does his wife know who you are?”
“You know, it’s funny you ask? I think maybe she’s been, like, Facebook stalking me. She’s been coming up under ‘people you may know.’ ”
“Claire…” Maureen frowned. “Why would Jill be stalking you after all this time?”
“Maybe the comments I leave on his pictures?”
Maureen cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, just because we broke up a few years ago doesn’t mean we’re like, dead to each other!”
Maureen gulped.
Claire clicked her red fingernails against each other and leaned into Maureen with a grin. “And even though we may have technically stopped seeing each other—“
Maureen cut her off. “Technically? You had a spectacular break-up! I regretted introducing you guys.”
“— that doesn’t mean we totally stopped… seeing each other.”
“Claire!” She hissed in a whisper. “He’s been married for four years!”
“Only because Jill got pregnant.” Claire shrugged and sighed. “I knew you couldn’t be cool about this.” The woman on the other side of Maureen shot them both a dirty look as Maureen pulled back, bumping her.
“How can you say that? You know they were smitten. He looked ten years younger when he was around her, he was like a puppy.”
Claire scowled. “Then how come he’d always answer if I texted him enough?”
Maureen crossed her arms and stiffened. “Unbelievable. You actually drove a man to—”
“Distraction,” Claire said, batting her eyes. “Does my hair look okay?”
Maureen stared straight ahead, shredding the damp tissue in her fists.
Claire stood up, straightening her dress. She walked to the front of the room, leaned over the casket, and whispered into the waxen man’s ear.
Jul 10, 2020
Furious Fiction June
For the Australian Writers' Centre monthly contest. Also not a winner!
Your story’s first and last words must begin with J.
Your story must include a game being played.
Your story must include the phrase MISS/MISSED THE BOAT.
Those Who Can’t
Juggling looked so easy on the video. But it was one of many skills on the list that was about to be crossed out, unachieved. Guitar, no: It chewed up Justine’s finger tips, and her hands were too fat for it, anyway. French braiding, no: Her arms got tired. Sourdough bread, no: Like she was really going scoop a cup of glop into the trash every day? What a mess. What else? There had to be something tangible Justine could achieve within the confines of her little apartment. As CyrusFlyrus waggled his eyebrows and added another banana to his blurred arc of flying fruit, she closed the video channel and started another game of online solitaire.
All the vloggers she followed had made impressive progress toward mastering some new skill, or were seeing the first fruits of a project that they’d started back when they all went inside. GreenSmoothieGirl had fully rebranded as GreenBalconyGirl (“Yay, plant with me, on my Green Balcony!”) and was nibbling the first sugar snap peas growing from the vines climbing her railings. FrankieFilms was almost done watching and reporting (“Lights, camera, Franction!”) on each one of Cinématique’s 100 Essential Movies for True Film Lovers. Not enough for him to get through one a day, he’d been doing double features on the weekends. Where did people find the time, or the motivation?
She scrolled through the pages she followed and saw graceful handstands, drafts of novels, adorable pet tricks, blueprints for achieving social justice. And here, 78 days into the quarantine, Justine was feeling like she’d missed the boat. It seemed like it would be so easy! Just pick a hobby, practice it a little each day, and voila! You were good at something. But she was still just as bad at everything as she’d always been. If not worse. She had failed to craft an invigorating and inspiring morning routine to give structure to her day. No sign of a relaxing and reflective evening routine, unless you counted looking up from YouTube and cursing at the clock each night. A tidy meal plan that incorporated each day’s leftovers into the next day’s menu? She had a vague memory of a time when she ate three meals a day, but now she mostly grazed from one plate — okay, bag — of snacks to the next. There was no cleaning schedule. Or much cleaning, for that matter. She pushed aside a pile of unread books and clicked on another video about decluttering. A smile crept across her face.
She cleared the laundry off the bed behind her, tilted the desk light just so, and hit record on the laptop. “Hi guys! You can achieve anything you set your mind to. Whatever it is you want to do, learn how to just do it, with me, JustineDoIt!”
Your story’s first and last words must begin with J.
Your story must include a game being played.
Your story must include the phrase MISS/MISSED THE BOAT.
Those Who Can’t
Juggling looked so easy on the video. But it was one of many skills on the list that was about to be crossed out, unachieved. Guitar, no: It chewed up Justine’s finger tips, and her hands were too fat for it, anyway. French braiding, no: Her arms got tired. Sourdough bread, no: Like she was really going scoop a cup of glop into the trash every day? What a mess. What else? There had to be something tangible Justine could achieve within the confines of her little apartment. As CyrusFlyrus waggled his eyebrows and added another banana to his blurred arc of flying fruit, she closed the video channel and started another game of online solitaire.
All the vloggers she followed had made impressive progress toward mastering some new skill, or were seeing the first fruits of a project that they’d started back when they all went inside. GreenSmoothieGirl had fully rebranded as GreenBalconyGirl (“Yay, plant with me, on my Green Balcony!”) and was nibbling the first sugar snap peas growing from the vines climbing her railings. FrankieFilms was almost done watching and reporting (“Lights, camera, Franction!”) on each one of Cinématique’s 100 Essential Movies for True Film Lovers. Not enough for him to get through one a day, he’d been doing double features on the weekends. Where did people find the time, or the motivation?
She scrolled through the pages she followed and saw graceful handstands, drafts of novels, adorable pet tricks, blueprints for achieving social justice. And here, 78 days into the quarantine, Justine was feeling like she’d missed the boat. It seemed like it would be so easy! Just pick a hobby, practice it a little each day, and voila! You were good at something. But she was still just as bad at everything as she’d always been. If not worse. She had failed to craft an invigorating and inspiring morning routine to give structure to her day. No sign of a relaxing and reflective evening routine, unless you counted looking up from YouTube and cursing at the clock each night. A tidy meal plan that incorporated each day’s leftovers into the next day’s menu? She had a vague memory of a time when she ate three meals a day, but now she mostly grazed from one plate — okay, bag — of snacks to the next. There was no cleaning schedule. Or much cleaning, for that matter. She pushed aside a pile of unread books and clicked on another video about decluttering. A smile crept across her face.
She cleared the laundry off the bed behind her, tilted the desk light just so, and hit record on the laptop. “Hi guys! You can achieve anything you set your mind to. Whatever it is you want to do, learn how to just do it, with me, JustineDoIt!”
Furious Fiction May
For the Australian Writers' Centre monthly contest. Not a winner!
Prompts:
Your story’s first word must be FIVE.
Your story must include something being replaced.
Your story must include the phrase A SILVER LINING.
Indoor Games
“Five, four, three, two, balaclava, now the floor is all hot lava!” The tiny ringleader in the red bandana jumped on the ottoman and shouted her countdown. Arms and legs and shrieks filled the air as the other kids scrambled to claim their own pieces of furniture.
In the kitchen, Paul placed the last mimosa on the tall island with a flourish. Four mothers perched around on swiveling bar stools. “If there’s a silver lining to all this,” he said, “it’s seeing the kids get off the screens for a while.”
“Cheers to that!” The mothers clinked glasses, and Paul left with a wave.
“Yesterday, Lula pulled a stack of books off the shelf! I was shocked,” Alice said.
“Max and Ez dragged the box of Legos from the back of the closet,” Dana said.
“That’s constructive!”
“Of course, we didn’t realize about the Legos until the next morning,” she said, adding a little vodka to her glass.
“What did they build?”
Dana swirled the glass. “Nothing. They were playing farm. They ‘planted’ them in the entire living room rug, wall to wall. I had to do the Heimlich on the cat, and John almost had to have a few surgically removed from his feet.” She twisted her wedding ring. “Why couldn’t they go for books, like yours, Alice? What’s Lula reading?”
“Reading,” Alice snorted. “I wish. Said they were using the books to ‘do spells.’”
“That’s cute…”
“Is it? She and Frankie tore out the pages and crumpled them up. They lit the balls of paper on the stove and tossed them into the oven to burn. I ran in when the smoke detector started blaring.”
“Oh, god.”
“Well, yesterday mine played beauty parlor,” Marcy said, watching the foam rise as she topped off her glass with champagne.
“Now, that’s sweet,” cooed Dana. “Must be so nice to have girls.”
Marcy slurped the foam. “One of those moments where it was a little too quiet, you know? So I go upstairs, and find all - all - of my makeup spread across the the bathroom and smeared all over their little faces.”
“Ugh, classic mess! But no harm done, right?”
“Ashlye'd cut a giant patch out of Hazel’s hair. That’s why she’s wearing it all wrapped up in that bandana today.”
“Oh, no!”
“And I came in just as Hazel was about to paint nail polish on Ashlye. As eyeliner.”
“No!”
“Yep. I scream, she drops the bottle. It shatters. Hot-pink polish and glass shards everywhere, mixed in with the hair cuttings. I swear, some days I wish I had boys.”
“You think so?” Trina replaced her mimosa with a splash of scotch. “My boys like to play ‘rock.’”
“Rock?”
“Yeah. They throw a rock at each other until one of them comes inside crying.” She emptied her glass.
At their feet, hot lava roiled and spluttered.
Marcy sighed as she curled her legs tighter under herself.
“At least they’re finally off the screens.”
Prompts:
Your story’s first word must be FIVE.
Your story must include something being replaced.
Your story must include the phrase A SILVER LINING.
Indoor Games
“Five, four, three, two, balaclava, now the floor is all hot lava!” The tiny ringleader in the red bandana jumped on the ottoman and shouted her countdown. Arms and legs and shrieks filled the air as the other kids scrambled to claim their own pieces of furniture.
In the kitchen, Paul placed the last mimosa on the tall island with a flourish. Four mothers perched around on swiveling bar stools. “If there’s a silver lining to all this,” he said, “it’s seeing the kids get off the screens for a while.”
“Cheers to that!” The mothers clinked glasses, and Paul left with a wave.
“Yesterday, Lula pulled a stack of books off the shelf! I was shocked,” Alice said.
“Max and Ez dragged the box of Legos from the back of the closet,” Dana said.
“That’s constructive!”
“Of course, we didn’t realize about the Legos until the next morning,” she said, adding a little vodka to her glass.
“What did they build?”
Dana swirled the glass. “Nothing. They were playing farm. They ‘planted’ them in the entire living room rug, wall to wall. I had to do the Heimlich on the cat, and John almost had to have a few surgically removed from his feet.” She twisted her wedding ring. “Why couldn’t they go for books, like yours, Alice? What’s Lula reading?”
“Reading,” Alice snorted. “I wish. Said they were using the books to ‘do spells.’”
“That’s cute…”
“Is it? She and Frankie tore out the pages and crumpled them up. They lit the balls of paper on the stove and tossed them into the oven to burn. I ran in when the smoke detector started blaring.”
“Oh, god.”
“Well, yesterday mine played beauty parlor,” Marcy said, watching the foam rise as she topped off her glass with champagne.
“Now, that’s sweet,” cooed Dana. “Must be so nice to have girls.”
Marcy slurped the foam. “One of those moments where it was a little too quiet, you know? So I go upstairs, and find all - all - of my makeup spread across the the bathroom and smeared all over their little faces.”
“Ugh, classic mess! But no harm done, right?”
“Ashlye'd cut a giant patch out of Hazel’s hair. That’s why she’s wearing it all wrapped up in that bandana today.”
“Oh, no!”
“And I came in just as Hazel was about to paint nail polish on Ashlye. As eyeliner.”
“No!”
“Yep. I scream, she drops the bottle. It shatters. Hot-pink polish and glass shards everywhere, mixed in with the hair cuttings. I swear, some days I wish I had boys.”
“You think so?” Trina replaced her mimosa with a splash of scotch. “My boys like to play ‘rock.’”
“Rock?”
“Yeah. They throw a rock at each other until one of them comes inside crying.” She emptied her glass.
At their feet, hot lava roiled and spluttered.
Marcy sighed as she curled her legs tighter under herself.
“At least they’re finally off the screens.”
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