Archive for category Competitions
Happy National Flash Fiction Day!
Posted by thepygmygiant in Competitions, Flash Fiction on May 16, 2012
… especially to the winner of our competition: Joy Manné! Enjoy her story and flash responsibly today.
He flashed at me
The first thing he flashed was his smile. His teeth were white and even. His lips curled upwards. His moustache was golden. And when he turned his head away the shine on his long curved nose flashed in the sunlight.
On the second day he flashed his smile again and his nose and he shook his jacket sleeve upwards and flashed his gold Rolex wristwatch. “Look at the time,” he said. “It’s exactly tea time, and you are English. Let me invite you to tea at the coffee shop here. They do excellent scones with cream and jam.”
On the third day he flashed his smile, and his long curved nose, and his Rolex, and it was lunch-time and the next thing he flashed was an invitation to a restaurant, where we could eat outside and my dog would be happy.
And the invitation was for the fourth day, and the restaurant was lovely and it flashed too and so did his clothes.
On the fifth day he met me, it had become “as usual,” walking my dog towards the woods where no one can see if you don’t pick up after. But when my dog doodoo-ed, he flashed a shiny blue plastic bag out of his pocket and picked it up and carried it all the way to the next bin, and dropped it in, flashing his golden Rolex again and his smile.
On the sixth day he met me as I came out of the woods. “Let me show you my apartment,” he said. “I will make pancakes for you, the kind that are called crepes. I am very good at making them. And the brandy I pour over them will flash fire into our eyes.” And he flashed his teeth, and his nose and his Rolex, and I forgot I was wearing sensible shoes and the sensible tweed skirt and shapeless jumper which are my dog-walking clothes, and I said, “That will be lovely.” “Yes, that will be lovely,” he agreed. And his flat was at the edge of the Common with views all the way over it in a building that flashed at me in a conspicuously understated way. And in his living room the sunlight flowed through a collection of modern glassware and splashed many colours around the room. “How lovely,” I said. “Yes, aren’t they lovely,” he agreed. So were his crepes.
On the seventh day were walking in that part of the Common where you feel the whole world belongs only to you. No one in sight. No sounds but the birdsong. We were out at the time the light slowly leaves the sky, in late spring, when children are doing homework, and everyone else has gone home to cook or gone out to eat. Still, it was, and golden, and the tips of the trees and the tops of the grasses glinted golden-red. He flashed – no, not what you were thinking. He isn’t that kind of man. He flashed a diamond engagement ring, and turned it so that it caught the sunlight, and he asked me, now that we know each other a little, would I mind advising him, do I think it is it the kind his boyfriend would enjoy?
Our heads were close together as I inspected it. In the week we’d known each other the hairs of his golden moustache had grown a little longer and they glinted in the sunset and so did the stone. “How lovely,” I said. “Yes, isn’t it lovely,” he agreed. And he flashed his curved, even smile at me again.
Look out for a competition runner-up on Friday!