Tonight is the night

He should have felt guilty for cheating on Stella.
But he didn’t.

She was a good gal, Stella, but she was the boss’s daughter, and that screwed with the marital balance.

Now the new bar tender at the Tipsy Tavern, Tracy, she made him feel like a real man. Her perfect hour glass figure, legs that went up to her armpits, and tits that were to die for.

Tonight, was the night. She was going away with him for the weekend. Tonight, he would score.

So engrossed was he in his reverie, that it wasn’t until his name was called, that he noticed her.

“Stella honey, what are you doing here?”

“Just wanted a last drink with you before you went off. Oh, and I thought I’d introduce you to my best friend Tracy. So sorry, but she won’t be accompanying you.”

He would have tried denial, but she was too smart for that. Gulping down the glass placed before him, he started pleading. “Stell, forgive me. I’m sorry. It will never happen again. If your dad knows, he’ll kill me.”

“He won’t, because Tracy already did.” She ran her finger around the rim of the now empty glass. “Transdermal toxin. It won’t hurt.”

And it didn’t.

In response to the Sunday Photo Fiction – Sept 30, 2018 challenge; based on a photo by Susan Spaulding

Price Cost

Lunch is finally over.
I rush to clear the table. A furtive glance at the clock shows me that it is past 3pm. I have to take my daughter to the doctor but madam is refusing to give me an advance. Not even 200 rupees.

‘Watch where you’re going.’ Madam’s hiss snaps me out of my reverie. ‘Those plates cost more than your salary.’

Meanwhile Sir is busy showing off the new dog that he has bought. People go abroad and buy clothes and electronics, but he has brought a porcelain doll. And they don’t even have children. Rich people and their futile expenditures!

‘…cost my over 60,000 in Indian rupees’, he says, and I almost drop the gravy bowl.

I stare at the silly dog after they move away, imagining madam’s voice smirk in my head; ‘Your ten months salary.’

I give it a little nudge and watch 60,000 rupees crash to the floor.

Written in response to the 180th Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge hosted by Priceless Joy, in response to a photo provided by Yinglan.

Amicable Separations

It was their 23rd wedding anniversary, yet he was late. He didn’t care enough to remember, and she didn’t care enough to mind.

It was past midnight when he eventually let himself into a pitch dark house. Suddenly the candles came on. “Jeez Malinda, you gave me a fright.”

“Well, its our wedding anniversary, or rather it was. I wanted to do something special for you. It been far too long.”

“Thanks baby. I’ve eaten, but I could sure use the drink.”

She watched him gulp down the exotic cocktail of vodka, orange juice and Sprite, generously sweetened with antifreeze, and even encouraged him to drink one more.

By morning he would be sick. In twenty-four hours he would be in the emergency room sliding into renal failure. She had planned everything meticulously. His mistress would be on duty then.

In response to Bikurgurl’s 100 Words Wednesday: Week 67 challenge.

The cicada and the mantis


A mantis stalking a cicada is unaware of an oriole behind.
– Chinese Proverb

“This is my street. You do business here. Welcome. You make money. Good. I watch out for you. Keep the nosy cops away. No one bothers you. I take care. All I expect, is that you show some gratitude. Share a little.”

A little! The blood sucking bastard calls 10 percent little. At least he didn’t ask me to kiss his hand in obeisance.

Despite my misgivings, I hold out the notes to him.

“No No,” he hisses, looking furtively around. “Put it in a cover and slip it to me with my bill.” And then the sleaze bag adds, “Of course you don’t slip me the bill, eh.”

They sit down at the corner table and order the house special. Today is not my day.
I am almost tempted to add a little poison to their food. Almost.

Suddenly three gentlemen in suits walk in. Not exactly the preferred dressing style in this neighbourhood. Everyone gawks as they walk up to the corner table.

“James Trevelyan, we have a warrant for your arrest. You are charged with the kidnapping and assault of Albert Albatross.”

As they lead them away, I slip the money back into my drawer.
“Cancel the orders on table 6.”
My day just got better.

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All consuming love

The fire burns hot and bright, shining in all its glory. It’s carefree flames leap up in excitement, uncontrolled, unashamedly consuming whatever it pleases. Beautiful, breathtaking and merciless.

Maybe that is why I am so attracted to it. I look at the wild flames, and all I see is you.

You who enveloped me in your smoldering heat, consumed my heart, my soul, my bank balance, and when all I had was consumed, you disappeared like a plume of smoke, leaving behind the charred mess that was me.

As the flames embrace you, I know that you are finally where you deserve to be. You are free to rage without pretence.

And all it took was my little spark.

In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 17 November 2017, based on a photo by J D Hardy

Emotions recycled

Steel dragons. As dead as the relationship that I called marriage. As cold as the man I called husband.

Everything unwanted should be recycled, he always said. So everyday, every moment, I strived for perfection. Always afraid that if I let up for even a moment, then I would be unwanted, discarded. Just someone to be recycled.

Reused. Refused. Recycled.

The security tapes and backup have been deleted. I always told him not to use birthdays as passwords. The man was too arrogant to listen. He never did understand technology. Never understood that the cameras recording the employee movements, recorded his movements too. Never understood the concept of remote monitoring.

In the forge, the furnace simmers leaving no evidence of its greed and rage. No bones. No ashes. No evidence of sweaty undulating bodies. No evidence of blood soaked steel.

Everything unwanted should be recycled.

Emotions recycled.

Karma. The ultimate recycle.

In response to the 140th Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge based on a photo provided by Enisa.

Recent Call Log

Hello. Boss? This is Ricco.
The crew are still fighting for that raise. I know the ship is scheduled to sail tomorrow. They are threatening not to work unless you promise them a raise.
Yes. They have signed agreements. Yes, all of them.
No No. No need to threaten arrest. I’ll talk to them right away.

Hey man. This is Ricco.
Just spoke to the boss. He wont budge. Says to tell you that your messing with the wrong man. Unless you’re guys report to work tomorrow, he’s going to have you arrested.
No, he’s not bluffing. He can do it man. You signed an agreement, remember.
You better convince your boys.
Sorry man. I tried.

Boss? Boss? This is Ricco.
One of the lifeboats came crashing down right before we started boarding.
No. No one got hurt, but we can’t sail now.
No, we wont be able to sail until we do a full safety inspection.
You better get here soon. The passengers are screaming, threatening to sue.
Ya. Right now. No, I’ll handle that. You need to come handle the passengers.
I don’t know how it happened. The cables snapped. No, they were new cables. The crew inspected them.
Sabotage? I can’t say boss.
Hello. Boss? Boss…

In response to the Sunday Photo Fictioneers challenge of October 15th 2017, based on a photo by A Mixed Bag 2013.