Cheating With Willie

When is a promise really a promise? After all, a lie isn't a lie if you cross you fingers behind your back.

I'm likening this blog post to a white lie, because I agreed to blog every week. Today is the day and I'm short on time; I've not done my 1500 words on the draft novel; my walk was short; had lunch on the hoof; fewer brews; and you can't count telephone calls because they're like alcohol; you either love them or hate them. :)

So instead of a long chat, here's a little, (copy and paste) cheat.

Below is a flash fiction story published in the first Vicious Vignettes. These little stories are challenging, but I love writing them. The Willie Griffin story was so much fun. I love him and he now has a slot in every collection. This tale was reduced from 500 words to just over 200.

I liken these to making a yummy sauce; they get stronger.

Enjoy.

Another Day For Miss Flower

Starting the morning buoyed, holdups along the track, late train, no time to collect a snack, Miss Flower arrived in the school playground and scanned the building. At the last window she spotted the dour Head Teacher staring, glaring through the double glazing before snapping shut the blind.

However, having a good day, the administrative staff are much kinder with, ‘Good morning, Miss Flower. No Willie Griffin again. But Mr Davies is already searching the place.’ Nodding she’d heard them Miss Flower wondered whatever next because Willie’s mother could not be disturbed. Not after the last debacle.

Ready to be welcomed by 2BF with chaos and uproar, she was dumbfounded because they were reading and not clowning. She dumped her bag on top of their still-to-be-marked English Literature exercise books – it was one of the many piles littering the Victorian desk’s restricted surface. Normally stressed by mess, she wasn’t because her Teaching Assistant was returning from sick leave. By the end of the day, the clutter would be no more and there’d be a reprieve.

Hari Kumar spoke, ‘Willie Griffin’s missing, Miss.’

‘He’s in the library. Who wants to go tell Mr Davies?’ Logging into the computer she readies it for registration and hangs up her coat. She turns and smiles.

By the door was grim Mr Davies. ‘I’ve just told the Head,’ he said. ‘Willie Griffin’s jumped. He was at the window ledge, grinning. I lunged and grabbed and missed.’