Flash fiction - Twice the fun this time

A general feedback we get for our posts is that they are very long. We see this as an expression symbolic of the 'fast-food generation', which needs immediate gratitification. Gone are the days, when we troubled our parents to tell us long stories, enjoyed reading long letters from relatives and friends and when 'Shantaram' was the perfect companion for a train journey. But today all good things seems to be preferred in small packages and reading as a habit has also been  hit by this bug.

As a result we thought of experimenting with something short. Bhujji had already got her feet wet in writing 'flash fiction' and today I too gave it a try. But we did it in our on style. Bhujji wrote the starting paragraph and then we both improvised and came up with our own second paragraphs for the same opening.  For those who enjoy the short things in life, hope you like it. Now the fun for you is to guess who wrote which endings. You could leave a comment!!

First

It was a hot sultry, summer afternoon. Just the kind of day for the job she had in mind. She cleaned her flower vase, carefully pulling out the wilted flowers. He would have hardly noticed them. But she pondered if she should leave the half dead ones. Perfection was important to her, especially today. She decided to leave them for the day. She arranged her records in alphabetical order, but from the last to the first this time. Last time he had arranged it the other way round. She then remembered her disheveled dresser. She arranged her bottles according to their height all facing the west, West for today. The Yardley tin was almost over, but she wanted it to stay. He had promised to buy a new one and then she can do away with this one. She polished her shoes, one piece had a scratch. It was an unpardonable mistake; she wanted it all perfect today. If only she had two pairs of the exact same shoe as him. She tried waxing the shoes but then she lost som nail paint in doing so. When she applied a fresh coat, the other hand looked dull and needed another coat. But coat after coat both the hands did not seem to match. She removed them all and started afresh with a new colour. This time his favourite- Red. The flowers, the records, the dresser, the shoes, the nails - she tried recollecting her list for the day. Tom was chained tight to the ottoman. He could not move far freely but could pull the ottoman out of the front room window if he wished. The clock struck three and she rose from her reverie. She had slept more than usual. She was late by twelve minutes and that too on a day like today.

She should have been out in the garden by now, exactly under the window sill. She rushed to the front door hoping that the ice cream wagon was also late. She opened the door. The ice cream wagon was turning the corner of the street towards her house. She rushed down the stairs and just then the driver honked. Tom dashed to the window and with his jerk pulled the ottoman attached to his leash all the way, down the window sill and instead of her; D’mello got crushed under the weight. And then she remembered her last item on the list. She was to call to D’mello asking him if he could pick up her favourite flowers at twelve instead of three today.

 Second

It was a hot sultry, summer afternoon. Just the kind of day for the job she had in mind. She cleaned her flower vase, carefully pulling out the wilted flowers. He would have hardly noticed them. But she pondered if she should leave the half dead ones. Perfection was important to her, especially today. She decided to leave them for the day. She arranged her records in alphabetical order, but from the last to the first this time. Last time he had arranged it the other way round. She then remembered her disheveled dresser. She arranged her bottles according to their height all facing the west, West for today. The Yardley tin was almost over, but she wanted it to stay. He had promised to buy a new one and then she can do away with this one. She polished her shoes, one piece had a scratch. It was an unpardonable mistake; she wanted it all perfect today. If only she had two pairs of the exact same shoe as him. She tried waxing the shoes but then she lost some nail paint in doing so. When she applied a fresh coat, the other hand looked dull and needed another coat. But coat after coat both the hands did not seem to match. She removed them all and started afresh with a new colour. This time his favourite- Red. The flowers, the records, the dresser, the shoes, the nails - she tried recollecting her list for the day. Tom was chained tight to the ottoman. He could not move far freely but could pull the ottoman out of the front room window if he wished. The clock struck three and she rose from her reverie. She had slept more than usual. She was late by twelve minutes and that too on a day like today.

Tom was his usual vivacious self, barking and wagging his tail relentlessly, looking towards the door. Maybe he heard the faint sound of the opening of the gate. Dogs can do that, she knew it. She got up from the chair, momentarily looked at all corners of the room and walked towards the door. On the way she released Tom and he galloped towards the door. He started barking as though talking to someone on the other side. It should be him. They both could talk, man and his dog. She anticipated the bell would ring before she reached the door. It didn’t. She unlatched the door and opened it. Tom ran out of the house. There was nobody at the door and the main gate was also latched. She looked around. Not even today, she thought. She went back and reclined on the chair. The door was left open for Tom to come back, who would sniff at the gate, all the way back to the front door, then do the same all around the house, and once he is through with the garden, he would come and lie down beside her legs. She would then go and close the door.