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?
..........................................................................
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?
Those who have read it say it's my best so far - why not try it for yourself and see if you agree? Please?
