flash fiction BOGOF Thursday!

Over here.

You see the brindled grey sea, and the wind-rippled dunes. High and far away a lone gull wheels and disappears. Wan cloud curtains the insipid sunshine. Far down on the strand a man is walking. His fair hair is flapping up in the wind like a wing, and he's got this red scarf, looping free. You want to shout, to wave, but the tape still covers your mouth, and the handcuffs bite deep. He turns.

today's flash fiction

There she was, in the next pew. The sun was streaming through the stained glass. Before he died, he'd
specified a Beatle's song to play as they brought the coffin in: Lucy in the sky with diamonds. A psychodelic funeral march, typically him. She turned and I noticed her greying temples. There was something different about the set of her mouth, as if she'd spent the last twenty years not saying something.
"Hello Lucy," I said.

I thought the recent kitchen refurb had disturbed some spirits from an old Indian burial mound our house may have been built on when I heard strange noises coming from downstairs this morning. Turns out it was just a man drilling a hole in the wall for the tumble dryer duct. Shame, just when I thought I'd done with my annual dusting session, too. Also shame it wasn't anything actually supernatural, which would have been fairly exciting for a Thursday morning - almost as exciting as getting a delivery of a new dishwasher and a whole week's supermarket shop at exactly the same time (did the delivery men synchronise watches before setting off, I wonder?).
So, today I plumbed in the dishwasher, moved the tumble dryer and re-plumbed in the washing machine. I also did lots of wiping windowsills and chucking stuff away. And ironing, too.
I felt the tedium of housework totally justified eating Twin 1's forgotten Easter egg for her.
I've just noticed that there's still a pink jelly worm on the ceiling of the living room, and  the leftover brick dust from the drilling, and a basket full of washing to sort, and an untold amount of ironing left to do, but I'm kind of done with being a housewife today.
What I really need is some genuine supernatural activity in the form of an OCD poltergeist. Something that, instead of hurling things across the room in a spooky way, instead picks them up and puts them neatly in a drawer somewhere. That would be nice...

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.