Charli Mills prompts us to write about a vice
April 22, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a vice. It can be part of a character or a part of the story. The vice can be the focus or it can be subtle. Think of ways to use a vice (or multiples, if you are so daring) to create a compelling flash fiction.
Which is the easy part. She doesn’t ask us to disclose our own vices. And in that regard I think I’m pretty dull. Don’t drink anything stronger than water or smoke anything at all. I hate pills, like cake but understand the dangers of overdosing on sugars, salts, starches – pretty much everything. I have never felt the slightest inclination to gamble. Cars are a necessity if anything and it remains my philosophy that experiences, not things matter.
My vice is, I suppose, an inability to stop this blogging caper and spending too much time on my various electronic devices. And sport. Oh yes, sport is my vice. The only time I have not consulted the Textiliste on a purchase of any significance that wasn’t also a present for her was buying debentures. For those not in the know, these puppies gain you the right to either attend a sporting venue or to have priority in buying tickets. They last, usually, for between 8 and 10 years and they are completely indulgent. I have them at four major sports venues in London. I am shamelessly prepared to put up with all manner of silences and hairy eyeballs to ensure that when England play cricket or rugby or football I will be there. Live. Screaming my head off or holding the self same head in despair.
I paid for the seat so why not…
And so to the flash. Mary has found some solace in the better behaviour of her half-brother but maybe she has other problems close to home?
‘Paul? What are you watching?’
Mary’s husband closed his laptop. ‘I just clicked a link. It…’
‘Paul?’ Mary could hide her horror. Tears speckled her lashes. She watched his mouth open and close before she hurried away. She didn’t grab her coat or close the front door but kept walking. All she could think was ‘how could he?’
He found her in the shelter overlooking the beach. She wouldn’t look at him. ‘Was that porn?’ It was said to hurt and it did.
‘What do you think? Don’t you know me?’
Did she know anyone? Her father? Her husband?
The story so far is here.