Flash Fiction Challenge

Feeling a little creative today? Well let your fingers do the talking then. A few weeks ago I told you of my interest (some might call it weird fascination) with discarded till receipts in shops. I would look at them and then imagine the life of the person who had made the relevant purchase. What sort of day were they having? Where were they headed? And with who? To do what?

The last challenge provoked some great pieces of writing and I hope todays will as well. Apologies for the tatty receipt. It has been living the back pocket of my jeans for a few days now. I know. Gross. But for those struggling to read it the person in question bought:

  • 1 packet of Fox’s Glacier Mints
  • 24 pack of Diet Coke (cans)
  • £20 of diesel (gasoline)
  • Hmmmmm. Interesting. Looks like someone was planning a road trip. And a man or woman after my own heart regarding their love of Diet Coke. And as for the mints? Well, somebody wanted to freshen up their breath for some reason. The plot thickens? Have I got your creative juices flowing? Are you up for the challenge. There are no rules. All I ask is you give this blog a shout out in your related post.
  • Your pieces can be as long or short as you want and I’ll reblog the best ones. Let me know what you think. Happy writing!
  • Are you up for today’s flash fiction challenge?
  • Dr. Hell’s Emporium Of Pain

    I cut a sorry figure as I staggered out of the dental surgery three days ago. I had been booked in for a routine filling. Something about me consuming too many fizzy drinks. Who me? I had innocently enquired when asked. I may be partial to the occasional Diet Coke or ten but other than that I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now just give me a jab to numb my mouth, fill the tooth and I’ll be on my way. Fionnuala and I were meeting my sister immediately afterwards for breakfast and the prospect of a sausage and bacon filled soda was all my mouth was focused upon.

    ‘Are you numb?’ my ‘butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth’ dental surgeon asked after administering an injection to the offending area of my mouth. ‘Er yes I think so’ I replied. It did feel a bit numb, but anyway I had been through this before and it wasn’t that painful anyway. Just crack on and let’s get this over and done with. I’m a busy man don’t you know. After breakfast I had to go to work. Plus I still had to buy Fionnuala flowers for her birthday. That magnetic spice rack she had been after. And a million and one other things to do. This filling was a trifling inconvenience.

    Twenty minutes later I was squirming in the dental chair, eyes rolling in my head as the Butcher Dentist of North Street (for that is her new name) wreaked havoc in my mouth. ‘I’m afraid the hole is too deep to fill’ she sweetly simpered. ‘I’m going to have to remove the root in order to save the tooth.’ And with that she threw back her head and emitted a blood curdling cackle before falling upon me with demonic relish, her instruments of mouth destruction reflecting maliciously off my terrified retinas.

    Okay I might have slightly exaggerated that last part but, hey, I’m a writer and artistic license is my prerogative. What I’m not exaggerating was the pain. I very quickly realised that my mouth was nowhere near numb enough and I needed another injection. In fact I needed all the injections. The second her drill came into contact with the exposed nerve I entered a whole new universe of pain. Searing, white hot agony that made my toes curl and my innards turn to mush. On a level of 1 to 10 it was a 37. The next five minutes or so seemed like days. I’m convinced I aged several years in that chair. If not decades. Which I can ill afford.

    At one point I let out a high pitched whimper which must have alerted her to the fact that her patient was a tad distressed. ‘I think I’ll stop there for today. I haven’t got near the root and you’re in too much pain.’ She almost seemed slightly disappointed as if I had ruined her morning. ‘We’ll have you back in a few weeks and, between now and then, you can decide if you want root canal treatment or the tooth removed.’ And with that I was being ushered out of the room by the dental nurse. Shell shocked but alive I shuffled to reception where I was given my new appointment card and charged £14 for the experience. Ain’t life grand?

    ‘What happened you?’ asked a shocked Fionnuala as her ashen faced husband emerged from Dr. Hell’s Emporium of Pain formerly known as North Street Dental Practice. As the delayed onset shock set in I just gestured for her to drive. Anywhere. Half an hour later as Fionnuala and my sister tucked in to French toast and bacon I made do with two Ibuprofen and tentative sips of tea which then dribbled down my chin much to the unease, no doubt, of adjacent cafe customers. My jaw felt the size of a house and arrows of agony were still shooting through the tooth in question.

    Brave little soldier that I am I headed into work afterwards where the sympathy was predictably underwhelming. I resembled an extra from The Walking Dead for the remainder of the day and was in bed before eight. It was the best nights sleep I have had in months. Every cloud has a silver lining I suppose. I don’t know if I learnt anything from the day so prepare to be disappointed if you are expecting some deep, spiritual learning to be be revealed in the final paragraph. Because it’s time for the final paragraph.

    Well here goes anyway. Always be prepared for the worst. Never trust a smiling dentist. All dentists lie. Dentists are liars. Have I made myself clear on that last point yet? Take the pain relief. As in all of it. Give me all the drugs. Now. Never attempt to drink hot tea after a mouth numbing injection. You’ll just end up looking like a drooling idiot and will frighten any young children in the immediate vicinity. Also never arrange a dental appointment if it is your wife’s birthday the next day and you are not yet completely organised. Pain and present buying are not a good mix. That is all.

    What’s been your worst dental experience?

    The Day I Laughed

    The other evening my brother-in-law sent me the link to a very silly song that he had written. I have a very juvenile sense of humour. My favourite comedy shows are the likes of The Fast Show, Alan Partridge and Larry David. The sillier the better as far as I’m concerned. I tend to take life very seriously and am a born worrier so I’m not quite sure why this is. Fionnuala thinks I stopped maturing mentally at around fifteen. Some women would say this happens to all men.

    Despite my love of immature, childish comedy shows my default setting is one of natural pessimism. To me the glass is always half empty as opposed to half full. In fact the glass is more than likely empty, cracked and in need of a wash. I am always prepared for the worst possible case scenario and then I’ll take it from there. I am prone to self pity and melancholic moods. I can be a right miserable git at times. Fun Time Stephen I am most definitely not.

    There was one line of the song that set me off. I laughed. And I laughed. And then I laughed some more. I rolled around. I clutched my sides. The tears rolled down my face. I couldn’t breathe. I was literally in stitches. This started Fionnuala and the kids. They started laughing at my reaction to the song. We were all in hysterics. It was infectious and uncontrollable. They didn’t even know why I was laughing so hard.

    When we had all eventually calmed down Adam and Hannah, aged fifteen and fourteen respectively, told me that they had never seen me laugh like that before. That quickly sobered me up. Surely they were mistaken? Was I that much of a sourpuss? Did I walk about with a cloud permanently hanging over me? Fionnuala agreed. She said I no longer laughed like I used to years ago. I had changed given the additional responsibilities and worries that life had piled on my shoulders.

    This surprised and saddened me. I didn’t want to believe them but realised they were right. I couldn’t remember myself when I had last laughed like that. It had felt cleansing and liberating, like the exhilarating feeling after a long run. It’s true what they say. Laughter is the best form of medicine. I resolved then that I would strive to laugh more and worry less. I don’t want my kids growing up with memories of a stern, Victorian father.

    Life today can be demanding and stressful. There is so much that can cause us to frown. I’m a realist. The world can be a very dark place. Only a fool living in a bubble would think otherwise. But if you sift through the debris of despair there are nuggets of joy and laughter to be found. Seek them out and embrace them for they are more precious than any ruby or diamond. They are like manna from Heaven. We need to laugh more. Sometimes it is the only thing standing between ourselves and madness.

    Laughter is healing to both ourselves and others. It can cut through any barriers. It is universal and requires no translation. We need to find something, anything, to laugh about. Lifting our heads in laughter is essential and edifying. We were created to laugh as well as cry. Even a simple smile can change lives. It costs nothing but it can be priceless to those around us. It promotes love and well being. It unlocks doors, hearts and souls.

    Find something to laugh about today. Laugh with others, not at others. Laugh joyfully and lovingly not spitefully or maliciously. Just laugh.

    When did you last laugh until you cried?

    Are you a glass half empty or a glass half full kind of person?

    Elf Hath No Fury

    I appreciate that some of my subject matter can be quite dark and depressing at times but today’s post marks a new low. I apologise in advance to the more fainted hearted of you but this story has to be told.

    We have a thief in our midst.

    When Rebecca told me she wanted to bring home an elf this Christmas I was initially excited. I was thinking Cate Blanchett, Liv Tyler or Evangeline Lily.

    But no I got Elfy the Elf….

    Since then he has wreaked havoc. And I give you….

    Day 1

    Day 2

    But much, much worse was to follow.

    He had to take it a step too far. He drank all my Diet Coke. You don’t want to meet Stephen without Diet Coke. He’s like The Hulk. Except I’m not green. And don’t have his muscles. But apart from that. Literally identical.

    Day 3

    This means war on the elves. I shall be raising an army of orcs forthwith and descending from Mordor upon Elfy and his kin. They can expect no mercy when, on my command, hell is unleashed.

    They shall not pass….

    *Elf & Safety Footnote – No elves were harmed during the making of this blog post. So far *

    Are you suffering an infestation of elves this Christmas?

    What is your favourite LOTR race? Hobbits? Dwarves? Elves? Orcs? Ents?!?!

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