I'm in danger of turning into a real life version of Ria from Butterflies - remember that programme? (You won't if you're under forty) - wafting vacantly around, having vague existential angst and cooking soggy souffles. Although I'm not falling in love with a tubby businessman I see jogging in the park. There aren't many tubby businessmen about on the barracks. There are a few intimidatingly fit young soldiers, but none of whom, I suspect would be remotely interested in my soggy souffles, either literally or metaphorically. Today, I'm at home, waiting for a dishwasher delivery and finding reasons not to dust the upstairs of the house and sort out the washing pile. Maybe I'll channel my inner Ria later and attempt a souffle....

today's flash for you

Vamp.

I knew you were the one. Not because of the white t-shirt stretched tight over your chest (although that helped), or even your dimpled chin. We found ourselves in the kitchen, escaping the throbbing party music, talked all night, until the colour began to bleed into the eastern sky. At sunrise, heart beating, lips parting, I fell towards you, and you closed your eyes. I was right about you; it was your neck that did it.

Just a quickie - busy day, two classes taught, no food (almost - does three oatcakes really count as sustenance?), 32 sun salutations done, one week's ESOL lesson planned, one online food shop finished, two TED talks watched with Son, one chapter of Secret Seven book read with Twin 2, 10 spellings tested with Twins, one flash fiction story submitted to paragraph planet. By golly, I'm exhausted just writing about it. Night then xxx

today's flash fiction for you

She pulled the tights further down over her face, wishing they were clean. It was like the beginning of a bad heist movie. It would have been funny, if she'd been watching it on TV. If she hadn't actually been playing the starring role herself. The door opened and she swung forward and the knife struck deep. She thought later that the tights were a stupid idea. He'd be dead before he recognised her, anyway.

I think the kitchen is finally finished. I couldn't procrastinate any longer and finally got round to doing the housework that I've been putting off for weeks because of the refurb. I even dusted, and got rid of a few cobwebs. I feel like a proper housewife. Well, sort of. I haven't actually put away any of the washing up - but at least we are no longer eating pizza off paper plates and their isn't an inch of plaster dust on every flat surface downstairs, so it's a start.
Oh alright, I wasn't quite as virtuous as I'm making out. I got a bit bored of the whole hausfrau thing and wrote a couple of flash fiction stories, too. Which is why there is still dust/cobwebs/mildew upstairs. Oh, please don't make me do the upstairs, too!

I think I may be in danger of becoming addicted to writing flash fiction. As well as the minotaur one (below),  and the one about the lost will, I've just written one about a female assassin. I suppose other people must feel this way about soduku or crosswords or rubik's cubes or somesuch. Here's the web link for the creative exercises if you think you'd like to give it a go: http://www.writing-workout.com. I would honestly rather be doing these writing activities than almost anything else in the world (almost!) ;)

Minotaur

I walked without thinking into the cool blue shadows, the hairs standing up on my arms. The sunshine was far behind me, now. I thought of calling, but you wouldn't hear me through all that stone: sandstone? granite? marble? You would have known. Big blocks like tombstones. There was a distant sound. Your footsteps, perhaps. 

I walked deeper into indigo-grey, not thinking, just looking. And then I saw.

But it was too late to turn and run.