Flash Fiction
Sharp outbursts of.... Words. Micro stories. Mini tales.
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Be Careful What You Wish For
by
Judy McDowell
I don’t know that I believed in magic before that day. A little, I suppose, but nothing like I’d read about or seen on television or films.
So when a strange woman asked if I wanted my life to change, I said yes. I presumed the aura around her, even her translucent appearance, were due to the alcohol I’d consumed and the pill I’d taken about an hour earlier.
“Yeah, I’d like to change my life,” I told her. “I’m fed up with a boyfriend who’s more interested in football than me.”
“So,” said this mysterious woman, and I’m sure a multitude of colours rippled through her. “What exactly do you want?” Her voice was husky and somehow had an air of authority to it. “Do you just want rid of the boyfriend, or do you want him exchanged for someone better.”
I giggled, then put my hands behind me to touch the rough brick wall to keep my balance. “I want something better, of course. Doesn’t everyone?”
“What is it you don’t like about him, and how would you have him be instead?”
Just touching the wall wasn’t doing it for my balance. I leaned my back against it. Briefly the woman had two heads, but soon the spare one vanished. I caught a whiff of lily of the valley coming from her. It reminded me of my old aunt. That gave me confidence.
“I’d like a boyfriend who isn’t bothered about sport and especially isn’t obsessed with football.”
“Okay.” Her voice floated across the air to me and reached my ears like a soft steam; silky and perfumed like a luxurious bath. Who couldn’t trust that voice? “What would you want your boyfriend to be interested in?”
“I don’t know. Animals. He’d want us to have lots of pets.” Momentarily my eyes closed as I saw a huge back garden with rabbits and guinea pigs, cats and dogs, and beyond that horses and donkeys in a field. “He’d need to be rich so we could live in the countryside.”
“I see. What else would you like in your perfect boyfriend?”
“Well,” I giggled again, warming very much to this fantasy voiced out loud. “He’d be quite a bit taller than me, but not ridiculously so. Erm, maybe so my head would come up to about here on him.” I touched the top of my sternum. “So he could rest his chin on my head while we had a lovely cuddle. And he’d be just the right width so I could wrap my arms around him without them meeting round his back.”
“You know wishes come in threes, don’t you?” Her breath drifted to me on a cloud of lily of the valley. I could almost taste the sweetness with that background of sharpness. “You can tell me one more thing that you’d like this boyfriend to be. Think carefully.”
I thought, as my head swam and I slid down that scratchy wall a few inches. “He’d have to be a good listener. Yes, that. I like to talk. Being a good listener is the most important.” Giggling I tried to straighten myself with the aid of my hands pushing against the bricks. I wasn’t fully successful.
***
It seemed that the colourful lady had been magical, far more than I had expected.
My boyfriend had spent his meagre money on a season ticket for a box at the football ground. Not only was he there when the team played at home, but he spent two or three more evenings a week there, watching all manner of sports on the huge television on the wall in the box, and drinking the alcohol supplied at its own bar.
He knew he no longer wanted to be with me, as I knew I wanted him out of my life.
Meanwhile, I had been studying journalism at the local college in the evenings, and there a new man in the class made me feel giddy with the excitement of just being near him. In the fashion of boys and girls exchanging paper notes at school in the past, he kept sending me messages on my laptop as I wrote my notes on what I was learning.
It was so sweet. I felt so wanted, so special, so loved, even though we had yet to spend any time alone.
His friend drove him to the lectures and took him home. But even when we were apart, he’d send me gifs. And always he’d send me a particularly cute animal one by way of saying goodnight.
When my boyfriend finally packed up his possessions and left our flat, I didn’t feel lonely. I’d moved on emotionally. I was enthralled by my new mystery lover, so emotive with his written words and touches of art, and who made me laugh with his jokes and comedy videos, usually about cats or dogs.
By the end of term I felt my heart completely full of him, ready to burst with what seemed like real love. I felt it so strongly that I when he asked me to marry him in a beautifully sculpted virtual scroll, I said yes.
The modern part of my brain kept questioning what I’d done, but the ancient part reassured me that it had been the right answer. I was lost in love with him.
He messaged me the venue for our wedding and asked if I was happy with that. I was. I was so very happy. The whole concept of this marriage based on our communication, unaffected by the usual physical side of a romance felt pure and true.
He sent me details of the lovely country home we’d live in, where we could keep animals galore.
And I loved the extra touches, the gifs he’s made himself, the copies of our most romantic ones printed and decorating the wall where we were to touch for the first time after we had said our vows. He’d thought of all these special details.
Our courtship had developed by means of our laptops and so he said we should exchange vows using them, our words visible to our guests on the wall behind the celebrant. Oh, how imaginative he was, and I adored how he made me feel full of beautiful fluttering inside my very core.
On our wedding day I wore a traditional lacy white dress with many layers to the skirt, and a veil and train that reached far behind me and was held by two bridesmaids, the children of my cousin, who looked perfect in their lilac Bo-peep dresses.
My heart beat so fast and hard as I walked up the aisle, it seemed a wonder I didn’t faint. The thought of this wonderful man becoming my husband in a few minutes, of being able to hold him and kiss him there in front of everybody, was almost overwhelming.
We exchanged our vows via our keyboards, and people awed and ahhed at the sight of those special words writ large on the white wall. The romance and affinity among our guests was palpable. I didn’t believe anyone could be as happy as I was then.
And when the words had been exchanged, and we eased our rings onto each other’s fingers, the celebrant announced us husband and wife. “You may now kiss,” she added.
And to be kissing him there and then, in front of all those people, having never so much as touched before he held my hand to place my ring upon my finger, was electric. I couldn’t wait to get him alone, just the two of us together, physically loving, speaking by voice.
I led him out of the room and up the stairs to our honeymoon suite, desperate to consummate our marriage.
But afterwards, as I spoke sweet nothings to him, he said nothing back. He kissed me tenderly around my mouth as I spoke, and on my neck and forehead and ears, but he said no words.
A chill entered my gut. I took his face between my hands.
“Are you never going to speak to me?”
He grinned mischievously and shook his head.
His expression was so adorable, I loved him, but I wanted him to speak.
Then he took his laptop from on top of the suitcase beside the bed and typed, “I am the best listener, but alas I am mute. Please forgive me for not making it clear. I thought you knew.”
The Angel Bird
I looked up, secateurs immobile in my hand, and tried to see what bird was singing that song.
I couldn’t see it.
That is a bird, isn’t it?
I felt a shiver down my spine as I heard it again. Why? It was just an unusual bird.
I cut through the soft branch, feeling a frown tighten my forehead as the cheep, cheep, cheep came again. Why did I feel so angry that it came again just as I pruned?
Why did I find it so creepy? I lowered my arm and put the cut shoot in the bin beside me, and by the time I’d released my grip on it, every hair on my arms was erect.
That half second movement was accompanied by the three cheeps.
Fear coursed down my back, leaving me cold and tingling. I knew I had to look around. But I was scared. Starting-to-sweat scared.
What did I think I would see?
I told myself I was being stupid. I’d see the rest of the garden and the side of the house. Nothing weird.
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
Slowly I turned, despite the adrenaline coursing through my body telling me to run inside and lock the door.
There was nothing there that wasn’t normally there.
Only this one unseen bird that was wafting an icy draft through my being.
Why did it affect me that way?
Because it didn’t seem real. It didn’t seem earthly. Not natural.
Throwing down the secateurs I ran inside, slammed the door shut behind me, and turned the key to hear a satisfying clunk. Nothing too small to be seen was coming in through that door.
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
Now it was in the house.
My heart pounded forcing my blood into my brain. A wave of dizzy nausea filled me. Was I spinning or was it the room?
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
The sound!
Stop the sound!
I grasped the back of my chair, struggled into it. Why was I at an angle? I adjusted my position. The angles changed, as my sense of up, down, left, right, forward and back changed. I felt sick and feeble. Fading.
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
Don’t give in to it. Put YouTube on. Turn the volume up to eleven and drown out the sound.
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
Go away! Please! Go away.
But it wouldn’t.
I tasted metal in my mouth. Is it bile or blood?
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
Rock Music of the Eighties. Do your worst and drown out the sound.
But it rose higher than the drums and guitars.
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
My world went black. My eyes were open, but what I saw was a void. My heartbeat at the speed of the guitar strings.
Cheep, cheep, cheep.
Was life sustainable with a heart out of control like this?
Listen to the music.
I felt my desk meet my face. The rest was numb.
“In a tree by the brook, there’s a songbird who sings
“Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.”
Cheep cheep cheep.
“This is heaven. We are particularly busy right now. Please take a seat in purgatory. We will call your number in due course.”
“… and she’s buying a stairway to Heaven.”
Space to rent for free!
Just waiting for your words of wisdom, fun, horror, humour, mystery.
An Awkward Dinner
Slap bang in the middle of the round dining table was a large ornament. It wasn’t cutesy or childlike; it was quite realistic in its details. It had been created in clay, fired with a high-gloss glaze. It stood some three feet tall, a little more in length, perhaps half that in depth. It comprised mainly shades of grey. It was of an elephant.
The four of us sat around the table equidistant from one another.
My host, a gentleman (or so he said), sat at my twelve o’clock. He had salt and pepper hair, neatly trimmed if thick eyebrows, even features, and skin that spoke of plenty of time spent outdoors in all weathers. He wore a dark suit with a white shirt open at the collar.
To his left, at my three o’clock, sat a sophisticated lady of indeterminate years, somewhere between forty and sixty, I would guess. She had honey blonde hair, caught up at the back in a large purple grip, and her long-sleeved tailored dress was of the same hue.
Opposite her, at my nine o’clock, was another man. I had no idea if he professed to be a gentleman. He arrived last and only spoke to greet everyone. He sounded like he had been privately educated and smelled strongly of Brut. Although his skin was less lined than Mr Twelve O’clock, I felt he was older, perhaps reaching retirement age. He too wore a dark suit with a white shirt, but also sported a red bow tie.
We were served by a young man and woman, traditionally dressed in black and white. They approached each of us from the side and showed us the dishes they displayed on silver trays, asking if we would like some and telling us to say when we had been served enough. They also provided a choice of red or white wine, according to our individual selection.
I hoped I was going to be able to eat. My stomach felt rather knotted at the strangeness of the situation. I felt like at arrived at a restaurant alone and was receiving an embarrassing amount of attention from the staff.
Once we had food and drink, the servers blended back against the wall, out of our way, but near enough should we need them.
With no more excuses not to, we began to converse. The host kicked off with the tried and tested comment on the weather and enquired if we had any problems arriving at his house.
Mrs Purple said she found the wind invigorating and had no hold-ups on the way there at all.
Mr Nine O’clock, simply said, “Hmm,” and continued to eat.
My uninspiring reply to our host was simply to say the weather was typically English and my journey had been fine.
I felt the knot inside my abdomen tighten, and my cheeks grew a little hot. I felt bereft of anything more to say.
It had been useful that the host had greeted us all personally as we arrived, and the other lady and I had stood with him for a few minutes in a small room with a glass of champagne, awaiting the man now to my left. Had it not been so, we would have had difficulty knowing who was talking and who we were addressing.
Of course, I was able to see the purple woman’s profile, as well as that of the older man, but it was all rather difficult, sat there at that circular table. Indeed, I couldn’t see my host at all and had to assume he was there and not a speaker, through which he was addressing us from somewhere else.
But none of us mentioned the problem.
We continued through each course, receiving our food and drink from the servers, sitting still at our places. Well, I tried to sit still but my right foot kept jigging up and down as a nervous tick, and I had to concentrate to keep it under control.
I felt it was the lack of eye contact that caused the stiltedness of the conversation, and it grew ever more disconcerting as time passed. It flitted through my mind that our host could have discarded all his clothes, and I wouldn’t know, except for any reaction from the lady to my right and the man to my left.
But still we didn’t mention it.
I sighed as I finished relating this awkward and embarrassing evening to my best friend the following day.
“Sounds awful,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’d cringe having a meal with people I couldn’t see properly.”
“It was awful. The event was badly designed. It was the elephant in the room.”
28 January - a Rush of Writing
Her heart was pounding by this time and sweat ran down her back and trickled into her eyes. She swiped it away with her sleeve and jutted her head forward to read the next instruction.
“Where is ‘input’? I can’t even see it, so how can I click on it?”
Again her eyes flicked to the timer at the bottom of the screen. It was counting down far too quickly.
“‘Input?’ ‘Input?’ ‘Input?’”
Got it!
Click.
“‘Iris scan required’. Where? Oh, right.”
“Come on, come on, how long does it take to check my iris is mine?”
The screen bleeped and a large green tick filled it momentarily.
‘Home address’ it demanded.
“Oh, for god’s sake!”
She typed it in, making three mistakes in her haste.
“What? ‘Am I at home now?’ Of course I’m not at home now else I wouldn’t be going through all this to get this bloody tin can going!”
The return key clunked as she hit it after clicking on ‘No’ so hard she scared herself in case she’d broken the machine. Her gut knotted tighter in response.
“No, no, no. I do not want to upgrade my experience; I just want to have it. Please, work! Take me home.”
The screen asked, ‘Are you sure you want to go?’
“Yes, yes, yes. Hurry up!”
She hit the key too hard again. “Calm down, calm down. Just follow the instructions, carefully.”
She breathed in deeply, held it a moment, then slowly let it out through her mouth.
“What? ‘Has the problem been solved?’”
“No, no, no, no, no…” She continued to repeat the word as she clicked on the ‘No’ button.
“I’m not going to make it.”
She felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes.
“Please! Let me go home. I want to see him again. Don’t let this be the end.”
The tears spilled out as she read the next totally unwanted question on the screen. “Would you recommend our service to friends or family?” The options were, ‘Extremely likely’, ‘Likely,’ ‘Neither likely nor unlikely’, ‘Unlikely’ and ‘Definitely not’.
Her shaking hand moved the mouse to ‘Definitely not’, and she thumped on the ‘Return’ key.
“Oh bugger, oh bugger. No, no, please no. Oh, thank god. Maybe there is a god.”
So terrified had she been that she had broken the machine, she was doing what many people do when they fear they are near to death – turned to God.
She felt she had swallowed an icy sword as the next words came up on the screen. ‘You have shown displeasure with our service. It will cease to be available to you.’
Sobbing, she threw her arms and head over the keyboard. “No! Please! I didn’t mean it. I was just stressed, I –”
Even with her eyes averted she saw the flash of the screen changing. She looked up, scarcely able to breathe.
‘Only joking.’
“What kind of sick joke was that?” She gasped for breath. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it. I’m frightened.”
‘You may go.’