scarfed down a raspberry tart and licked red goo from each finger,
savoring the sweetness with the tip of her tongue. Tom had always hated
raspberries. “Too red,” he’d said.
bits of paper and glitter covered her sofa and two chairs, even as she
sipped her mocha and rum and swayed to the Rhythm and Blues playing on
the old record player. Tom hated vinyl records; confetti, too. Matter
of fact, Tom hated most things that didn’t have to do with banks.
Once, she’d paid two hundred dollars for a room at a resort, and
all he could do was divide the cost by the number of hours spent in the
room (“Eleven dollars an hour,” he announced at regular
intervals, “and most of it sleeping.”).
old disco ball spun and sparkled as “I Will Survive” filled
the empty room. This celebration was just for her. She picked up
another tart and ran her finger through the rich filling, relieved to
be rid of etiquette and appearances.
New Year’s celebration ever.” She took a sweet bite and
decades Sue researched, constructed, supervised and wrote (dry,
technical) reports. Now mostly retired, she delights in writing short
stories, especially stories of human failings, and when she remembers
to submit, she even occasionally gets published. She’s an editor
at SilverBlade.net and Liquid-Imagination.com, and a trustee of Silver
Pen (SilverPen.org), a non-profit writing association.
|I love words,
and the Flash Factory at American Zoetrope is famous for its word
challenges. Every week we're given five random words and we all
scramble to write microfiction that uses the words in creative ways and
tells a complete story. I hope I've achieved these two goals with my