Welcome to the two hundred and eighty-eighth in this series that is ‘5pm Fiction’.
Late April 2011 I discovered StoryADay.org and the project that is to write 31 stories in 31 days. Anyone who knows me or follows this blog, knows how passionate I am about short stories so my clichéd eyes lit up at this new marvel. And just a few days later there I was, breathing life into new characters. This went on to become (with some editing of course) my 31-story collection eBook Story A Day May 2011. I have since published (as eBooks) the 2012 and 2013 collections, detailed on http://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/books-mine/short-stories/story-a-day-may.
I was nearing completion of the 2012 project when I decided that I didn’t want to stop at the end of May so 5PM Fiction was born. I put a load of prompts on the 5PM Fiction page and today’s was to write a monologue from the prompt of ‘an advert’. Here is my 341-word story (which I continue tomorrow).
Connection (part 1) – his side of the story
It’s not quite what I’d imagined when I’d put the advert in, her turning up like that. People who like Motown are usually, you know, a bit older, but when I opened the door, well, she was… I was speechless.
I felt like her dad, me in my slippers. She was polite, didn’t look further down than my jumper… an old one I’d dug out to decorate the lounge, but she smiled, and not a felt-sorry-for-me smile.
I followed her to the back room, to the records. She must have felt comfortable because she took off her coat. But then the room was boiling. I’d stripped off the wallpaper so had the radiators up full blast to dry out the walls.
So there we were; her in this blouse… very pretty it was, all floral, like Laura Ashley but not so fussy. I offered to make her a cup of tea but she said she’d had a pot to herself at the bus station café.
So I showed her the records. She stared at the picture and I thought she was going to cry. I’m not good at that kind of thing. I wanted to put my arm round her, but she’d get the wrong idea. Brave of her to come to a stranger’s house really.
The smile came back. “Perfect,” she said. I said they’d only been played once so they were pretty much mint, and she laughed. I asked if she wanted to look at the discs but she shook her head. Then she gave me a £20 note. No haggling or nothing. I would have taken fifteen, probably a tenner, for her.
Don’t know why, but I folded it and stuffed it in my jeans pocket. Seemed a bit irreverent really, but that’s me; I don’t think.
“For my father,” she said, and I nodded. I wanted to ask why, but I just got another smile, a “thank you” and that was it. Gone. She has my number so she’ll ring me if she wants to… won’t she?
Part 2 (her side of the story) follows tomorrow. Photograph above courtesy of morguefile.com.
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