What is 5MinuteFiction, you say? It’s an adrenaline-fueled, instant-gratification sort of writing contest. Sound fun? Great! Get in there and get dirty!
The Rules
* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose or poetry in any style or genre
* You must directly reference today’s prompt: flamingo
(Note: The prompt is the word. The picture is for decoration/inspiration.)
* Post your entry as a comment to this post.
I’ll close the contest at 1:45. That gives you 5 minutes to write and ten to accommodate the vagaries of relative time, technology, and the fickle internets. If you are confused or just want to whine, feel free to email me.
At the close of the contest, this week’s guest judge, Nicole Wolverton, @nicolewolverton will nominate five finalists.
I’ll put the nominees in a poll, and at 9:00 EDT tomorrow I’ll close the poll and declare the winner.
For updates, you can subscribe to my RSS Feed, “like” my Facebook Page, or follow me on twitter. Or follow us on twitter with the #5MinuteFiction hashtag.
What’s the prize? Well, nothing, obviously. But we’ll all agree to tweet and/or blog about the winner of today’s contest so their fame and fortune will be assured.
A Few Notes:
* In the interest of time and formatting, it’s best to type straight into the comment box or notepad. It’s also smart to do a quick highlight and copy before you hit “post” just in case the internets decide to eat your entry. If your entry doesn’t appear right away, email me sometimes comments go into the suspected spam folder and I have to dig them out.
* I reserve the right to remove hate speech or similar but I’m not too picky about the other stuff.
* This is all for fun and self-promotion. So be sure to put your twitter handle at the end of your post and a link to your blog if you have one.
“Don’t do that! Seriously don’t go up there!” I ran after Erica as she made a beeline for the attic, giggling madly.
“I want to know your big secret. What on earth do you collect up here?” I groaned and hid my face in my hands as she unlocked the door. Silence, then hysterical laughter. “Flamingoes?!”
Pink birds of all shapes and sizes, some out door ones, some sculptures, even one or two knitted ones. Still laughing, Erica clomped back down the stairs, her oversized boots making quite a bit of extra noise.
“You are so getting your yard filled with these things on your birthday.”
“What…what do you think it wants?” Theo looked at the creature, standing there and gazing at them with beady black eyes.
“It’s a flamingo.” Michael answered, “What the hell do you think it wants?”
The graceful bird reached a foot down in slow motion, shifted its weight, then brought its other leg up against its body. It turned its head this way and that, assessing them down it’s black spoonbill.
“I don’t know. What do flamingos eat?”
It’d been outside their apartment door all morning. Always there when they looked through the peep hole.
“Look it up on Wikipedia.”
“Don’t you know? You sounded like you knew!”
The bird opened its bill and let forth a quick, trumpeting honk of a noise. It reversed its stance once more.
“Look. Just open the door, and shoo it away. I’m sure it will leave.”
“Why don’t you do it?”
“What, are you afraid of a bird now? A big pink bird?”
“Of course not. Alright.” He hiked up his pants and screwed a determined look on his face. Theo turned the doorknob, not seeing Michael back away and behind a book shelf.
The bird studied him as though to catalog him. Theo took a step forward, the bird remained as it was. “Go on then,” he said, “get out of here. Shoo! Back to the zoo!”
The bird lowered its raised foot, and stood on both legs. It opened its scooped bill again. And opened it. And opened it.
Michael heard the scream. He was hesitant to approach the door. When he finally did he saw, in place of one flamingo, now there were two.
@DL_Thurston, who apologizes that he said “flamingo” when Leah asked for words on Twitter.
DL Thurston recently posted..Boycott Me!
As we drove down the street, the feeling of dread began to creep up my spine. We drove past house after house, each one still looked the same since the day I left. I wondered if the pink flamingo still stood tilted in front of Mrs. James’ front yard.
I kept my eyes looking for it, that I almost missed my Mom’s house; the one I actually came to see. Mrs. James must have sold the house. There was no way she was getting rid of that plastic bird, otherwise.
Several cars lined the sides of the street just after the house. I knew my sister would be there. I wasn’t ready to see her yet, but as always, mother forced our hand by deciding to die. She had this way of making us face our fears, you see.
Mieke Z. Mackay recently posted..Inspiration Sunday
The living room was painted a color that could only be called flamingo. One that had been fed a little too much pink food coloring. The girl facing me looked like a confection.
“I’m Emma,” she said, brightly, holding out one hand, palm down, as if offering it for a kiss rather than a handshake. I wasn’t quite sure what to do so I took a chance and brushed my fingers and lips against hers. It seemed to be the right thing.
“Steve,” I reciprocated, blushing as badly as the walls at the squeak that came out in place of any sort of real, manly voice. That seemed to be OK, though, too because she smiled.
Shall we go?
I gestured and then followed her pink-stilettoed stride out the door.
“So, was there anywhere in particular you wanted to go?”
“The airport.”
I managed to stifle the “huh” but just barely.
She hadn’t noticed my lack of response, apparently, because her gaze was focused on my car. “This is what they sent?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She wrinkled hr nose and sniffed.
“My bags are in the hall,” she said.
“Bags?”
Not that I was opposed–it had been a while–but I wasn’t expecting a stayover.
“Yes, and can we hurry? I like to be early, you never know how security’s going to be.”
“But I thought…”
She watched me, politely impatient.
Either this wasn’t my arranged blind date or my sister had a wicked sense of humor. Unfortunately, it seemed it was the later. I sighed and went back into the hall.
Leah Petersen recently posted..Oh the Things You’ll Learn
“Lawn flamingos at Christmas? Honestly honey? Can’t we have one holiday where those things stay in their box?”
My husband just doesn’t understand. There is something magical about the delightful pink creatures and their wire legs. He doesn’t appreciate their elegance.
“Take them down if you will, but know that I was up for hours last night hot glueing the tinsel antlers to their little heads. Hours.” I know he would never remove them. He knows it would break my little pink heart.
I smile as I dab hot pink paint on the wall of our foyer, the flamingo stencils I found at the craft store are much nicer than the ones I did in the kitchen. More detailed.
“But you can barely see them with all the snow!” His face is growing pink with his exertions. Flamingo pink. Almost, but not quite.
“I know honey, but I have to have them there. You know that.”
And he does.
The last time he took my flamingos inside was over the Memorial Day holiday. He objected to the little camouflage outfits I’d sewn for all sixteen of them. We had a little platoon all lined up saluting the tiny American flag.
But I showed him what happens when you mess with my flamingos. The following morning they were all wearing a tiny slice of his toupee. Hot glued to their perfect little pink plastic heads.
@corinneoflynn
“Where in the world did you find that?” he asked, stiffling a laugh as he watched his three year old daughter shovel cold boiled shrimp into her mouth, clutching a homemade fun-fur pink flamingo under one arm. One google eye was hanging on by a single thread, giving the friend a rather intoxicated look. “Shrimp again?”
“Shhh! She’ll hear you!” his wife chided in a low voice, pouring more cocktail sauce onto her plate. “It’s your fault for telling her flamingos get their pink feathers from eating shrimp.”
“Yes, but four times this week is a bit much, isn’t it?” he replied, enjoying these teasing moments after a long day in the classroom.
“They were on sale at Publix.”
“Mr. Sqwakers likes swimp!” a tinny voice came from the booster seat between her mom and dad.
“Careful, sweets,” the mom smiled, taking the fork from her child before the sauce laden shrimp made contact with the new lovie her daughter held tightly.
“Mr. Sqwakers needs a bib,” Dad replied, picking up the salad bowl and refilling his plate.
“Mommy will make me one!”
“Yes, love, I will,” the mom sighed, knowing full well that next week her daughters fascination would move from flamingos to some other animal much like the bears, hippos, penguins, and giraffes had.
@dejeansmith
Some people were so predictable. Chandra had been following the guy for over a week. This guy was so sleazy she felt a compulsion to bath, scrubbing vigorously when she went off shift. But she’d found a way in. Or at least a way to get a bug into the Flamingo.
The Flamingo was a “members only” club that served as a front to the Gandini Family on New Mars. They controlled the influx of illegal narcotics as well as some legitimate businesses. No agent had ever been able to infiltrate the Flamingo in over ten years of surveillance. Until now that is.
This guy, Johnny, was predictable. Whenever he saw someone begging in the tunnels below the martian surface, he would always ask them for a handout first. And then he would laugh like it was some kind of brilliant joke. This time he got a surprise.
Chandra had done undercover for years and when she wanted to look the part, she could do it better than any on the force. Tonight she looked like a street bum, maybe a jizz whore working the corner near the Flamingo. As Johnny approached she held out her hand and slowly opened her mouth as if to proposition him.
“Hey there sweetheart,” he cracked, “got a quarter you can spare for ol’ Johnny here?” His laughter was loud. He was totally caught off guard when Chandra flipped a coin up in the air.
Out of sheer reflex, Johnny caught it in his hand. He looked it over, looked her over. And said, “Thanks!” as he pocketed the coin.
What an idiot.
A few minutes later, Chandra checked the receiver and she heard voices. The signal was coming in loud and clear.
@redshirt6
@Mzmackay – sorry, I forgot that.
Mieke Z. Mackay recently posted..Inspiration Sunday
Darryl rubbed his eyes again.
He was looking out the front picture window. He squinted right and left, and still no change.
“well, I’ll be….” he didn’t get much further than that, because a thud came at his door.
Darryl eyed the door suspiciously. Another thud, and then a battery of whumphs and noises like grating really hard cheese.
“What the…damn!” Darryl finally snapped himself out staying in one spot like deer and threw himself up the stairway. Frantically, he ripped open his bedroom door.
The thuds were getting louder. And then, a crash of a broken window from the kitchen. Quickly he pulled back the sash and looked out the bedroom window. The back yard was… was full.
Yanked the underwear drawer out and upended it on the bed.
“Ammo…. is ….?” No ammo. great. He guessed he could use the gun as a club, but really was that going to help?
He pulled the window up and took a deep breath.
“I’m a gonna… I’m a gonnaaaaaaaa ddiiiieeeeeee!” He screamed, but of course no could hear him.
He vaulted his butt up into the window, with his legs dangling in the room.
Carefully, with his arms shaking, he managed to lever himself up until he was holding the top of the window and standing on the narrow ledge.
It was hard to think. All around him, the noise was deafening. And frightening.
Risking everything, he swung an arm up to the roof ledge. After several grunting minutes, he pulled himself up onto the roof, weak as a newborn babe.
For five minutes, he lay on his back, breathing heavy while the sounds of infiltration and destruction echoed up from inside the house.
Then, resigned, he stood up slowly. He did a quick 360 degree assessment of the island.
Pink.
Nothing but Pink.
A week later, they found his dehydrated senseless body.
In the hospital, with tubes coming out of him like an octopus, the only thing he said was “Flamingoes. Damn Flamingoes. Get off my damn yard.”
Sunburned, his skin was an incredibly brilliant pink.
John Hancock recently posted..Grokdad: http://twitpic.com/6sjv4h . @LeahRemini Here is your pic! thanks so much for tweeting me. If u like it, please retweet to ur followers
His mother refused to believe they weren’t having a girl. Ultrasound be damned, they were wrong most of the time anyway. The world was supposed to give her a granddaughter, she insisted, and so she’d bought everything she could find in pink: blankets, hats, pacifiers (they’d told her they wouldn’t be using them–it was bad for the baby to get too attached. She bought them anyway, in pink, of course).
But the oddest was the flamingo. Bright pink, with a little flamingo-sized tank top that looked like Lily Pulitzer. Made In China Lily Pulitzer. They sat it in the crib anyway, among all the blue and green, the train engineer teddy bears and all the things that screamed boy.
And little John laid there with it, for the whole six weeks.
Maybe they shouldn’t have given it, he thought, even though the doctors told them it wasn’t the things in the crib.
Maybe it was a bad omen, he thought, this insistence on a girl. Maybe his mother had somehow wished her way out of a grandson. But SIDS was a fluke, they said. No prediction. No fault.
But all he knew was that baby John had loved it. Cried when it was gone.
So he laid the pink bird beside the little stone, in a graveyard that seemed far too vast for such a little being, and gave that flamingo up to the rain…and his son.
It was monsoon season. And that’s when bad things happen.
It was strange seeing him laying there, water pooling around him, the pink neon lights adding a strange cast in the half-light. Like a downed flamingo in the rain. But flamingos weren’t made for this type of place.
I reached out and touch him, to caress his hair one last time, the drops shiny on the ebony curls but stopped and withdrew my hand. He was gone. I stood, tightening the frayed trench coat around my body, feeling a subtle chill in the air and with one last quick glance back toward the body, let myself blend back into the crowd.
They’d seen it myriad times. He was just one more stupid American who hadn’t paid attention to the warnings. I ducked my head to light a cigarette, the match hissing angrily in the light drizzle. A moment of regret and then I let it pass. I knew the way the world worked, and Bangkok wasn’t for everyone.
Besides, it was monsoon season.
@DayAlMohamed
“Mommy,” said Danielle, beaming up at her mother, “When I grow up, I wanna be a flamingo dancer!”
Linda sighed a little bit, and then smiled widely at her daughter.
“Sweetie, it’s flamenco. You want to be a flamenco dancer.”
Her little four year-old, with her hair in two long braids down her back, shook her head vehemently.
“Nuh uh! I want to wear pink tights and a tutu and stand on one leg all the time.” She folded her arms, raised her right leg, and smiled proudly… right before the fell over onto the bed. Linda chuckled.
“First of all, dancers usually wear matching leg warmers.” Pulling the rainbow sock off her Danielle’s left foot, she pointed to the white sock she had laid out for her daughter.
“And second, if you want to be a dancer, you should make it to class on time first.”
Leaning down, she kissed that little head, while Danielle struggled to put that sock on right side out.
“Okay, Mommy.”
“Go brush your teeth. We’re leaving in five minutes.”
“Okay.” Danielle jumped down off the bed and scrambled for the door. Linda turned back toward the mirror.
The little stopped suddenly in the doorway, just where Linda could still see her, and raised up on one foot, clapping her hands high in the air twice.
“Flamingo!”
@briancortijo
Fred hopped from one leg to the other, at the edge of the fence. “Your flamingos are so vibrant! I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“It’s all in what you feed them, really.” Virginia sighed. Really, her flamingos. All they ever wanted, really, were her flamingos.
“I’d love to know!”
“Well, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” She came up to the edge and put a calming hand around his shoulder.
“You jest!”
She pushed him over—just like all the others. She consoled herself with the beautiful flock of flamingos.
@kaolinfire
“She won’t stop humping it,” I protested, gathering my miniature dog under my arm. “I just don’t think it’s right.”
“Have you tried spraying her?” The salesperson asked, rubbing her hands all over her orange apron. She smelled a bit like poop yet conversely, looked like a tangerine. Was it weird that I felt hungry?
“Uh . . . she is spayed.”
“No, spraying her – with a water bottle.”
“Look,” I growled, “the problem isn’t my dog. The problem is the stupid flamingo. It’s got some weird canine pheromone thingy going on. My dog isn’t a little slut. She can control herself around stuffies.”
“Do you want to exchange the toy or not?” She grimaced, and I kind of wanted to smack her.
“I—no, I want . . .” It occurred to me I had no clue what I wanted. It also occurred to me that I hadn’t taken my medication yet today. “I want you to apologize to my dog.”
The orange-wearing sales person walked away, and fumed, still clutching that stupid flamingo.
“You’ve got your safeword?”
“Yes.” Dalton had just been educated in the art of safewords, and he was holding onto his like a lifeline.
“I won’t stop unless you use it.” Mistress Jade had the voice of a professional dominant.
“I know.”
“I know…what?”
“I know my safeword?” He said puzzled.
She clucked, “Mistress. Call me Mistress, pig.”
“Oh! Sorry…um, Mistress.” He risked looking up at her, and was immediately distracted by the length of black patent leather that encased her leg all the way up to mid thigh.
“Do you know your safeword?” Her voice was as brittle and cruel as on the phone, and the frown on her lips was truly formidable.
“Yes, Ma’am.” He dropped his eyes again and wondered what the hell he was doing here. This was the last time he’d offer to write ‘anything’ for his editor/ex-girlfriend. Still, he needed the few extra dollars in his bank account so he could eat next week.
The woman moved behind him, “Don’t use it unless you mean it, because that is when the session stops.”
She swatted him once, and he squeaked.
“FLAMINGO!”
Mistress Jade’s laughter followed him down the street.
@nrbrown (Woot! My first time!)
N.R. Brown recently posted..A famine: It’s only words, right?
She knew her neighbour was Greek, she had been told that was why she had all the statues. It was one thing to have a bird bath or perhaps a small sculpture in your garden, but it was another thing to have a small army throughout your yard. She would have complained to the community association but they all seemed to be afraid of her. Maybe it was the stone statues she had guarding her door. Although not carbon copies of each other, each had a menacing body guard or cop look.
Most of the people in this neighbourhood had at least a touch of class, not a pink flamingo or garden gnome to be seen, considering it was south Florida that was pretty impressive.
She looked out of her window and spotted a new statue, one that kind of looked like the postman. She had had enough, it was time to have a little face-to-face with this gaudy woman.
Cybil marched past the new figurine, she barely noticed the parcel he was holding was marked:
MED-USA
She rang the doorbell several times and waited. “Go away, I am not to be seen!” A voice said from inside.
Cybil was not going to be turned away. “Come and face me, I need to talk to you about the state of your yard!”
A series of clicks and the door opened.
…
“So the last person that lived here, what happened to them?” He asked the realitor.
“The neighbours said they were tired of all of the lawn ornaments.” She said.
“Well I find them quite charming.” The wife of the prospective buyer replied. “Especially this one.” A middle aged stone figure stared at her. “I just wish she’d be turned away a little.”
@DRyanLeask
D. Ryan Leask recently posted..#HumpDayChallenge Week 15 – Winner!
“Hey! Hey mom!” Joshua tugged at my sleeve.
Dammit. I had just been about to write my concluding paragraph. I hated concluding paragraphs. I knew they were supposed to be more than repeating the points I’d already made, that they should bring in some other element to allow the reader a deeper or more unique understanding, but how to do that was a mystery.
“Mom, mom, mom!” Josh bounced.
I had had an idea, too, and now it was gone. I shut my eyes and took in a deep, slow breath, and then let it out, deep and slow. I opened my eyes and turned to Josh.
“What is it?”
“Did you know that flamingos aren’t actually pink?” He clapped his hands over his head.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you know?” He hopped up and down, insistent.
“OK,” I sighed. “No, I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, they’re not really pink. It’s cause of what they eat. Little tiny . . . um . . . stuff. Like krill, I think. That turns them pink.”
“I thought it was whales that ate krill,” I said. Dammit, now I was interested. And I didn’t have *time* to be interested.
“I thought that was baleen,” he wrinkled his forehead, thinking, too.
“No, the whales are called baleen whales,” I corrected, thinking, is that right? I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“We could google it,” he said, pointing to the computer where my assignment for my online class sat, twiddling its virtual thumbs, cursor blinking.
“Just give me five minutes of silence, please. Then I will google it with you.”
“OK,” he sighed and went back to his comic book.
I looked again at that dang blinking cursor, took a breath, let it out.
“Just as the flamingo,” I typed, “appears pink to onlookers from shore, when it is actually a white bird that gives the illusion of pinkness due to what it consumes, so too, our monetary system is built on deception. Without the gold standard to back our dollars, our paper money is like the flamingo. Pretty, eye-catching, and a symbol of whatever we want it to be. We consume and consume, without any idea of what is feeding us.”
I hit send.
@aftergadget
Sharon Wachsler recently posted..Disabled Writers Need Not Submit
↑ @DRyanLeask
D. Ryan Leask recently posted..#HumpDayChallenge Week 15 – Winner!
The plastic flamingo melted in the flames, the tip of its beak dripping hesitantly, then in earnest. The wire in its legs was now exposed, the legs having long ago oozed and evaporated.
Carina watched in silence as the blaze sucked and pulled at the air around the house, and imagined fire fighters restraining a frantic woman, running back to save the flamingo. She smirked as the imaginary fire fighters told the imaginary woman, “No, it’s too late. You have to let the bird go!”
The air hotly pressed against her skin. She turned to the imaginary woman and said, “I know it’s not easy. But sometimes it’s really is too late.” She thought of Bill trapped in the house with his lover. “You just have to let them go.”
Eek. At the last minute. My twitter handle: @aftergadget
Sharon Wachsler recently posted..Disabled Writers Need Not Submit
Pink was never your color. When you made the deal with the witch, she promised you’d be gorgeous, undying, a phoenix never-ending. By night, you have all the powers she swore you’d possess, fully in your body. By day, you’re stuck in a lake, with the flock around the witch’s tower. Tall, gangly, and pink as pink could be; just another flamingo, not even standing out from the rest of her customers. Was it worth it?
Reesa Brown recently posted..HWA’s October fun
“I can’t wait until we hit the beach an’ start to spend some o’ this plunder…” Davis said, absently looking off towards a dull grey horizon.
“Won’t be much place to spend it, the Capn’ has his way. The course he’s got us on goes around all three free ports, making straight south by my reckon.” Gallas said, one hand gripping the helm as he eyes the hanging brass compass. “We’re not even puttin’ in for grub save a quick stop to fill the potables and grab some fruit.”
“Where’s he got us heading, then?” Davis said, looking up at the rippling air bladder that held the galleon aloft. The sails were tight as the wind pushed them through the late afternoon sky, the dark purple of the seas below them flecked with whitecaps. “Our hold is so full o’ shiny we can’t fit another coin, we’re out of all but the dregs in the pantry, and we got that bleedin’ bird what squacks and trumpets all day an’ all night. I can barely get a moment’s peace with that pink menace shriekin’ about! I’m like to cut its bleedin’ head off if we’re trapped on this barge much longer…”
“You know what’s said about the Capn’s bird, Davis… powerful bad luck to offend that bird, it is. You best hope none what could hear you has a mind to say anything to the Cap’n… Powerful bad luck that is.”
“I don’t believe in no bad luck from a ruddy bir-“
As he was saying the words, a freak wind gust bounced the galleon and Davis slipped on a mop handle left unstowed. He barely made a sound as he slipped over the side of the ship, and his splash was lost among all the other whitecaps…
Count this one too! Had posting errors and came in by email:
“What are you working on?” the other mechanic asked me as I was taping a stencil to the side my ship, a Daedelus.
“Some new tail art for Maude.”
“Maude?”
“Yes, Maude. My ship’s name is Maude,” I replied.
“Why Maude?”
I looked down at the flight line mechanic with exasperation. “Does it really matter? What would you name her?”
“Phyllis,” the man replied.
I rolled my eyes and got back to my work. I needed to have this painted and dry in time for flight practice at 2200. The mechanic hovered below me, watching me as I started painting in the stencil.
“What is that?”
“What?” I asked, growing more impatient.
“What is the stencil supposed to be?”
“It’s a flamingo.”
“A flaming goo what?”
Jesus Christ, I thought to myself, and we let this guy work on the ships. “A fla-ming-go. It’s an extinct bird from Old Terra,” I explained as patiently as I could.
“Huh. Okay, whatever works for you,” the mechanic said, then finally plodded down to another ship bay.
@MLGammella
Leah Petersen recently posted..Oh the Things You’ll Learn
Time’s up! See you all at 3:00 with the finalists!
Leah Petersen recently posted..Oh the Things You’ll Learn
Damnit, I missed it!
Well, here’s mine anyway.
“Command, this is Flamingo-1, we are prepared for docking,” the Captain said into his radio.
“Rodger that, Flamingo-1,” the voice over the speaker returned. “You are cleared for Florida Docking Bay.”
“Rodger, Command, Florida Docking Bay,” the Captain said. He turned and winked at Amanda, who cringed slightly at the obvious flirting.
“There she is,” the Captain said. “The SS America, the largest cruise ship in the galaxy. Five hundred thousand cabins, one-million crew, and something for everyone from any species you can imagine, all yours for your two week trip from here to Alpha Centuri.”
“And one murder,” Amanda said under her breath, and slapped the Captain on his shoulder and nodded at him. “Thanks, but I’m not here on vacation. I’m here to solve a crime at the request of the owner of our little cruise ship there.”
“Murder?” the Captain said. “There hasn’t been a murder in human space in over 100 years.”
“That’s why they brought me in,” Amanda said. “I’ve been dealing with this sort of thing my whole life in the alien sectors.”
She flipped him a business card. He turned it over and read as the black ink flowed into words.
Amanda Holmes, Private Investigator.”
Chris Blanchard recently posted..Where was I on 9/11?
Harrison Joyce readied himself for action. He awaited his order and tapped quietly on top of the satellite phone
where he hoped the Go call would eventually be received.
As usual with his operations, timing was crucial and both planning and exectution on time and on target were
attributed that he valued highly. This time though, the client wasn’t known to be punctual. In fact, in the four
years that they had been aquainted, timing had never been one of their highest priorities.
They could bark orders yes, but actually get to somewhere on time… no.
Now, he waited and waited. How long had it been? Twenty minutes? Twenty five?
He looked up.
“Damn!” he said.
The toy shop was closing.
“Too late!”
Just then, a voice called out from the satellite phone.
“I want the pink one, dad” his daughter said finally.
Operation Flamingo was go!
@macguffinit
Count me among the forgetters of the twitter handle…@jsschley
J. S. Schley recently posted..In Brief: Nelogism
Yeah, count me in too..
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