The Interview

“And your prognosis?” She leaned back, scrutinizing the male across the desk.

“Um…” He fidgeted with his wedding ring. “Err…”

“At this rate, I’m won’t be getting my fifteen minutes of quality time.” Arms crossed, she scanned the room with a huff of disdain. “Tick-tock.”

His fingers tugged at his too-tight collar. “Well, the reports and our tests—”

“Prove, what?” Her swinging crossed leg made her stiletto’s heel to glint in the light like the tip of a black dagger.

His mouth went dry, unable to swallow. “Um, well if you look at—”

“I don’t want to look at the images I can find at home. I’m here for a report. Your verbal presentation. Not a show and tell lesson. I want to know strengths. Weaknesses.” She shifted in her seat. “These chairs are so uncomfortable.”

“I can get you another one?”

“And waste my fifteen-minute time slot. Listen, Mr,” she said, checking her wristwatch. “I want to know the basics. Simple—failure or pass? Brain scientist or truck driver.”

“No one fails grade two and your son is doing well.” Relieved to see her smile, he dabbed at the sweat from his brow, mumbling, “I hate parent-teacher interviews.”

200 words

from the flash collection HOME SWEET—NOT.

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Adulting

Sally stepped into her apartment, leaned her bike against the wall and dumped her backpack onto the floor. ‘Mum, Dad, Sis and your latest boyfriend, and Mr Jamieson my school principal, and… who are you?’

‘The lady at the local milk bar.’

‘Thought you looked familiar. Why are you all sitting in my living room?’

‘Good question.’ The little old lady looked to those seated in fold-up chairs.

‘We’re here to talk to you,’ said Mr Jamieson.

‘Will this take long? I need to download these photos from my mountain bike ride to create content to meet my deadline. Then I’ve got to get ready for my date with this amazing guy I met falling off a mountain-–literally. He’s my new para-gliding instructor. I’m teaching him to surf, which he wants to incorporate in his next jump, and I’ve agreed to –’

Mum, placed her palms on Sally’s shoulders and guided her to the spare camping seat, then scooped up her large wine glass. ‘Honey, how long have you lived here?’

‘Two years.’

‘Don’t you have furniture? We had to bring our own chairs.’

‘It’s minimalism.’

‘Cannibalism, you say?’ Called out the little old lady.

‘Baby sister, we’re worried about you.’

‘Why bring your boyfriend. Who are you?’

‘I’m Rick, remember?’

Sally twisted her mouth to the side. ‘The creative entrepreneur?’

‘No.’

‘The adventurer?’

‘No.’

‘Where did we meet?’

‘At the milk bar.’

‘Oh, that’s me.’ The little old woman waved a frail hand in the air. ‘You’re the sales thing-a-me-jobby for insurance.’

‘Now I know why I don’t remember. Why are you all here in my apartment?’

‘Honey, this is an intervention,’ announced Mum.

‘But I don’t drink, don’t smoke–’

Mum poured the last of the wine bottle into her glass. ‘Honey, we’re here because you’re having fun, running out the door, chasing your next adventure.’

‘What?’

‘You should be like everyone else,’ Sis said. ‘Trapped in the 9-5 world of rooms and partitioned office cubicles. You should be spending your day staring at shiny screens under fluorescent bulbs while hiding from fresh air and natural light, where you need to be told what time to eat, and learn of peak hour traffic stresses, and –’

‘Be like us, honey,’ said Mum, nudging her husband.

‘It’s tradition,’ Dad mumbled with a deep sad shoulder sagging sigh, staring at his hands in his lap.

‘Honey, you don’t need to trip around meeting new people because young Ricky, here,’ as Mum patted his shoulder, ‘can get you in at his work.’

‘It’s where you’ll be strapped to the one spot for eight hours,’ Sis said. ‘Speaking to lots of upset people over the phone discussing their poor lifestyle choices at the insurance company–it’ll make you feel good.’

‘We’re only doing this for your own good, honey. Being an adult isn’t meant to be fun, and it’s time you grew up.’

 

Let The Cliches Rain

cliche - rain - MelAROWE - R&Rblog - wordpress

‘Not talking about condoms.’

‘Recruitment companies?’

‘I said umbrella. You know, the portable shade structure created a thousand of years ago, used only by the ancient Egyptian aristocrats. Obviously, waterproofing and storm strength wasn’t needed in the land of sand with this piece of — ’

‘Are you having an umbrella moment?’ Continue reading “Let The Cliches Rain”

The drink - Flash fiction piece by Mel A ROWE

The Drink

“So, what’ll you have,” he asked the young lady as they faced the setting sun.

“Um, well… I’ll have… um…” She teethed her bottom lip, blinking at the orange and red skyline.

“It’s just a drink.” Shoving hands into his pockets, he scanned the mingling crowd.

“Um… Wine. No, wait–Beer. Do you drink beer? Maybe I should have water? Yes, all this fresh air’s dehydrating. You? Um…. No, wait, cocktail? Is that too much? Or a non-alcoholic cocktail? That’ll be a juice, right? No, wait–“

His eyes rolled as he suppressed an inner groan.“It’s just one drink.”

“This is fun?”

He raised his eyebrow at her.

“Soooo romantic. Perfect place for our wedding, don’t you think?”

He gagged, tugging at his t-shirt’s collar as his face reddened.

“You alright? Want me to get you a drink?”

“I’ll fetch my own, thanks.” He turned and ran to edge and took a flying leap.

“MAN OVERBOARD,” came the cry.

The skipper at the helm shook his head and wheeled his yacht around and headed for the man swimming for shore. “That’s it – No more Single’s Nights on this boat. Poor blokes can’t handle the pressure.”

(200 words)

from MOVING MOMENTS

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