ROAST POTATOES - a story in 100 words

ROAST POTATOES

It wasn’t even a proper fight – he said his mother’s roast potatoes were crisper than mine, I said he could go home to his mother any time he liked, he slammed out of the house, I tried to stop him, and my hand went through the glass door.

Blood spurted everywhere, and before the ambulance got here I’d bled half to death.

Then the police got involved, accusing him of attempted murder, and when I said I’d done it myself they assumed I’d tried to commit suicide.

How can I tell a shrink it was caused by roast potatoes?

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This week's Friday Fictioneers' prompt photo was taken by Dale Rogerson, and I hope the reason for her broken door wasn't as dramatic as mine. I wrote this story, tweaked it down to 100 words and posted it, in ten minutes flat, so I hope you like it. 

Thanks as ever to Rochelle for hosting our goup of flash fiction enthusiasts on her blog  https://rochellewisoff.com .

I have been busy this week promoting my latest book, Wolf Pack , which you can buy by clicking on the cover image at the top of this page. If everyone who reads my flash fiction buys a copy of my book - and leaves a review - I shall be a happy writer. 
Those who have read it say it's my best so far - why not try it for yourself and see if you agree? Please?

I'M BACK!

Back home in time for a cup of tea followed by a drink at Bar Leones and supper at Pepe's.
Kika was so delighted to see me that she turned a dozen somersaults, which is quite an achievement for an old cat - she must be covered in bruises under all that fur - and she had a paw on my lap even before I had lifted my legs onto the sofa.

I also discovered I acquired two more followers while I was away, and I would like to extend a warm welcome to them.

The two weeks I spent visiting family and friends in Sussex were lovely. For one thing, it was the first time in thirteen years that I have celebrated Mothers' Day with my mother and my UK children and their families. They looked after me beautifully and I stocked up on grandson cuddles, though you can never have enough of those, can you?

The weather was kind to me too. I was only rained on once, and the snow that fell on Monday lasted just long enough for me to enjoy the novelty. This was the blizzard we drove through on Racecourse Hill outside Brighton, but we were home in time for tea.

My daughter wasn't so lucky. She left work in Crawley at 5pm and was stuck on the A23 for eight hours. We tried to find news and updates on the radio without success. My son phoned the police to ask what was being done to help all the stranded drivers, but he got no satisfactory answers, He would have rushed off to his sister's rescue if we hadn't persuaded him that if she couldn't get out, he wouldn't be able to reach her!

She survived, tired but unscathed, but there must have been mothers with young children in that cold traffic jam, people in need of medication, and drivers without sufficient fuel to keep their engines running to stay warm. We were not impressed with the failure of the Sussex Police to react more quickly to the emergency.

On Tuesday, though, school was closed. We built two snowmen - Clean Bob and Dirty Bob - then walked over the fields to make snow angels, and by teatime the sun had started to thaw the snow.

Those two weeks gave my eyes a rest from the screen and my grey cells a chance to ponder the best way to tackle the task ahead - another re-write. I was telling my son about it and he asked, "What would you put on the back cover?" Just thinking how to answer that question has helped me to focus on my story and to identify my main theme. Thanks for the inspiration, John - next time you come to Tenerife I'll buy you a pint of Dorada!

WATCH OUT - THEY'RE AFTER YOU!

Long-term residents of Tenerife know they must be extra careful not to violate any traffic laws in the weeks before Christmas. Even the slightest infringement can get you pulled over, whereas at other times of year we see the most appalling drivers getting off scot free. We have always joked that the Traffic Police are after their Christmas bonuses from November onwards.

Now we learn that it isn't a joke - it's official. The Guardia Civil bosses have told all their officers that they have been falling behind in their duties, and that if they don't fine more drivers they will not get their 240 euro annual bonuses. That's scary.

It is difficult to get the better of the police, but the other day I heard about one man who foiled their plans. He was stopped for having his fog lights on unnecessarily and told he could pay a 100 euro fine on the spot.
"No thanks, I'll go to court," he said.
"But that will cost you more."
"It will take years to get to court in this country, and I'll be dead by then - I've got terminal cancer. Will there be anything else or can I go now?"

DESAPARECIDO

 DESAPARECIDO

My heart always lurches when I see one of these posters. DISAPPEARED. It’s usually someone’s child, and I’m a mother and a grandmother. It doesn’t bear thinking about. But a couple of years ago a teenage girl went missing near us, and we witnessed every move as the tragedy was played out.

She phoned her parents to say she was on her way home from her boyfriend’s house. She never arrived. Her friends said she took the short cut. Her parents and neighbours searched and found one shoe. One. The next day a helicopter circled. The Army set up camp at the petrol station and spread out with dogs for kilometres around, questioned everyone. I collected a fistful of Desaparecido leaflets and posted them round our village.

A week later the Guardia arrested one of the neighbours. They found evidence in his car and persuaded him to talk. The man had wrapped the girl's body in plastic to disguise the smell and buried her under rocks. The dogs had walked right past her. That poor girl’s parents might never have known what happened to her.

And one small tragic detail emerged later. The kidnapper’s car had slowed down at a junction that night and a man heard her scream, “He’s going to kill me!” He called the Police but his Spanish wasn’t good enough to make himself understood.

We drive past that murder spot every week, and every week I remember.

                                    ***************** 

To lift the DISMAL mood I thought I’d talk about DRAINS next.

If you DINE in a Tenerife restaurant or DRINK in a bar, you will probably visit the loo, where you will find a waste bin into which to DUMP your toilet paper. DISGUSTING, you think, and flush yours away. Please DON’T. Our drains are not DESIGNED for paper.

DIGGING through rock is DIFFICULT so the drains aren't DEEP and their DIAMETER is comparatively small. Some even go overland, propped up on blocks or piles of rock, and they are getting old. The population has more than DOUBLED and the drains get blocked.

My DAUGHTER once worked in an office on the ground floor of a 17-storey building. When DIRTY water seeped through the ceiling they called in a plumber. He had a DREADFUL job, wedged between the false ceiling and the concrete one, sewage DRIPPING on him as he worked in the heat. Try telling a whole apartment block not to DRAIN the bath or flush the toilet while you clear the blockage!

And a village near us is enduring months of DISRUPTION while new drains are run out beyond the harbour. DREDGERS created temporary DYKES to hold back the sea - they are only partially successful and the work stops at high tide. DIVERS go down to bolt the sections together and the contractors have promised to restore the beach to its former state. DO I sound DUBIOUS?