Dogged

(c) Dawn Q. Landau

The dog’s been following me for more than an hour. I don’t know what to do. It won’t go away. I’ve tried throwing things. It thought we were playing a game of fetch when I threw sticks, and it dodged the rocks. I’ve tried shouting. It wagged its tail. I won’t run, my backpack’s full with my possessions.

The dog’s catching up with me. It nuzzles my hand.

I can barely walk anymore. I should have left the books at home. But they’ve been my only friends, I didn’t want to leave without them.

Dogs make good friends, don’t they?

***

This is my story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers – all the stories inspired by the image are here.

Live Long and Prosper

Lennie insists on giving me a Vulcan salute before she kisses me hello. I didn’t mind during the summer break because the only witness was Carrie, who’s decided that Lennie is the coolest girl ever. But Carrie’s six. Her primary school friends might be impressed by her fancy gesture.

But summer’s over, and Lennie and I aren’t in primary school anymore. You can’t do whatever you want. If you’re not careful, you’re bottom of the food chain.

‘Relax, babe,’ Lennie says. ‘Haven’t you heard? J.J. Abrams is in charge of the Star Trek reboot. It’s going to be super hot.’

***

I was offline all day because our broadband moved before we did. So I only heard that Leonard Nimoy has died a couple of hours or so ago. I’ve loved Star Trek for as long as I can remember and Spock has always been my favourite. The story isn’t going to make my Top 3, but it had to be done.

And the View’s So Nice

Blueberry pancakes – the aroma greets me before she opens the door. A peace offer. Don’t feel like smiling, but I do.

‘Just want to pick up my stuff. Your dad in?’

‘No. I’m by myself. I made…’

‘I can’t. Gotta be places.’

My stomach roars.

‘Have one, okay?’

I love her pancakes. But it’s late. Her dad meant it when he said I’d not leave this place alive if I showed my face again.

‘Okay, one. I’ll fetch the DVDs. Be right there.’

I sneak out. On the way home, one final time, I enjoy the view from Primrose Hill.

***

I wrote this for this week’s Micro Bookends. I’ve been meaning to write something for the challenge for a few weeks. I am not going to post this one to the site, though, because I won’t have time to comment on stories this week. And now I’d better go and pack a few more boxes – I’m moving house tomorrow…

Aside: a New Story Elsewhere

My story Pret a Manger was published on 101 Words today. If you read it, do let me know what you think.

I’ve updated the page that links to my stories elsewhere on the Web, so you’ll find the link to the story there, too..

Hitting ’em Hard

I’m alone, on a tennis court that fills with water the moment it rains, then doesn’t dry off for hours. The waves batter the beach. The sky’s forgotten it’s supposed to be blue. I practice my serve until I’ve smashed all the balls over the net, walk over and start again.

Before I hit each ball, I imagine it has Tony’s face. He’ll be drinking on our balcony with his friends. They’re revolting, his friends.

I’ve embarked on this trip with great expectations. Now I can’t remember what I liked about Tony.

At least I’ll return with a killer serve.

***

Second week of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Find all the stories here.

Not a Nice Lady

The car speeds past. I hold the girl’s hand. The mother finds us, gets in my face.

‘Mummy, you were gone.’

She shushes the girl so she can have a go at me. No hope of me mentioning I held the girl back before she could run into the road. Not that she would believe me.

‘Mummy,’ the girl whines. ‘I got scared when I couldn’t find you. The nice lady…’

‘Antonia, it’s a tramp, not a nice lady.’

She pulls the girl away. Within a minute, she’s on the phone again.

The girl looks back and waves at me.

Aside

I’m sooo behind on replying to your comments. I’m sorry. I will get round to it.

A 100-word Thank You Note

One month ago, sick of staring at the messy first draft of my novel, I decided it was time to dust off my old WordPress blog.

I ran a writing prompt blog on Blogger for three years. I tried to make people respond but I had zero comments over there. When I received a comment here within twelve hours, I thought it’d be a fluke. But it wasn’t.

To all readers, likers, commenters and followers of this blog: Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’ve welcomed me, encouraged me and made my first month great fun. I’m glad I’m back.

Warm Birthday Wishes

The old typewriter had a mind of its own.

Sam removed another sheet of paper, put in a blank one and started again. Happy Birthay Aunty Mel, she typed. She paid close attention to hitting the keys she meant to hit. For the third time, the words on the page came out different.

Her curiosity stoked, Sam kept typing.

The typewriter didn’t have a mind of its own. It had tapped into Sam’s mind, giving an airing to thoughts she’d bottled up.

Oi you thieving cow,

I wish I had the words to express how much your sis and I hate you.

Tell Dad I said hello.

Sam

 ***

It’s MFtS time. Click here for more stories inspired by the image and the first sentence.

Biochemical process

I don’t believe in love at first sight. But this guy walks in, looks at me and I’m awash with hormones. They ignite my cheeks, make me feel fluttery. I’m familiar with the biochemical processes involved. Not that it makes me immune. Because look at his eyes. Maybe you do recognise your soulmate on sight?

I adjust my coat, remove the pen from behind my ear. My smile is flirty rather than professional.

He hands over his prescription. Oh. My soulmate comes with an STD.

I fetch his meds. I’m not disappointed. I don’t believe in love at first sight.