It’s been one of those weeks so I thought I’d share with you my angst, just for the sympathy. I have been slaving away at my novel, reading chapters back, rewriting them, and changing them to suit only to find that I haven’t gained one single word on my word count. In fact, I’ve lost about a hundred. Oh the joys of working backwards!
Anyway, I've decided to take a break and let my usual characters sit on the naughty step for a while to think about what they have put me through. In turn, I thought I’d try my hand at some flash fiction. Not usually my type of thing but hey ho, see what you think.
At Face Value
Maggie was the type of person that you would invite to a pub quiz, most definitely not the type to drink the night away with, while chatting mindless nonsense. To her, there was no such need for it. She was so ‘strait-laced’ as my mother would say. Strangely enough though, at the office party, she was the best dancer I had ever seen. Maybe it was an age thing. She had no-one to answer to and did as she pleased. At fifty-two, divorced, no kids just cats, she was your typical closet raver. No-one would have guessed about the prosthetic leg hiding away under that purple velvet pant-suit.
You wouldn’t say that she was a people person. She was too judgemental; everything always had to mean something. It was sad that she couldn’t take people at face value; repeatedly suspecting ulterior motives. I can only hope that it wasn’t something that had happened to her in the past to cause such mistrust. But whilst witnessing her sour face contorted by thoughts of disclosure after observing an ounce of wrongdoing, I think that may have been the case.
One day I will make the effort and ask her in a nonintrusive way if her life was happy? I hope so. I couldn’t bear to spend the next two years in prison thinking I had stolen two-thousand pounds from a woman that was already unhappy.