Hello everyone and a warm welcome to Part 7) of the entries for my weekly: “Fiction in A Flash Challenge 2021” Week #36.
Today I’m featuring contributions from entry Part 7) By Kirsten Nairn
Last week I set the following Challenge:
Hello everyone and welcome to my new “Fiction in A Flash Challenge!” Each week I’ll be featuring an image and inviting you to write a Flash Fiction or Non-Fiction piece inspired by that image in any format and genre of your choosing. Maximum word count: 750 words.
Here is the image prompt and Kirsten’s contribution.
You created quite a buzz the day you arrived in our tiny costal village in your brightly decorated VW camper van. News spread like wildfire about the ‘American laddie in his Scooby Doo van’. I was still trying to decide whether you were the epitome of cool or just plain weird, when you walked into the store.
Mr Cavendish looked up from the shelf he was stacking.
‘Oh, here he is. We’ve heard all about you, although you’re about fifty years too late for Woodstock son!’
At ease in your own skin, you just laughed.
‘I’m just here for a few days to catch some surf before heading North on the last leg of my journey, and in need of a few supplies for tonight.’
‘Surf! I don’t know about that son. We have the North Sea with some big waves, but it’s freezing, even at this time of year. Rosie here will help you find whatever you need though.’
I blushed as you turned your gaze towards me, a twinkle in those pale blue eyes.
‘I see your admiring her. What do you think?’ he nodded in the direction of the van parked outside.
‘Yes. It’s pretty, I guess.’
‘Pretty! Awe, come on. I’ve spent two years working on her. She’s got to be worth more than a ‘pretty’, surely?’
‘Ok. It’s cool.’
‘That’s better. Hey, how about I show you around her? What time do you finish?’
‘I won’t bite. Promise. I can just take you for a spin and drop you home within the hour. Come on, what do you say?’
‘Okay,’ I gulped, ‘I finish at five.’
‘Great. See you then. Oh, I’m Dexter by the way. Dex for short.’
Mr C scowled. ‘Rosie, is that wise? You’ve only just met him? And he’s American!’
I immediately regretted my decision and was jittery for the rest of the day. Nausea swept over me as the clock approached five. I prayed you wouldn’t show, but in the distance I heard the guttural sound of the diesel engine as it made its way up the hill, Bob Dylan blaring out of the speakers. The blast from the horn made me jump. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and headed out into the bright sunshine.
Up close you were the most exotic thing I’d ever seen, with your sun-bleached hair and tanned skin, such a contrast to my own grey pallor. And your teeth! Even after two, tortuous years of wearing braces, my own teeth were nowhere near as perfect.
‘I found a great spot to park for a few days, just down by the beach, I thought we could head down there if that’s all right?’
We saw each other every day after that. You picked me up at five and we headed to the beach where we collected shells and driftwood, toasted marshmallows, and listened to your sixties music. Slowly, the grey left my skin, replaced by a healthy glow, which wasn’t purely down to the sea air.
We kissed for the first time one evening as we lay under the stars. My heart raced as I imagined what was to come and I hoped my inexperience wouldn’t show as I pushed my body closer to yours, urging you on, but you seemed distracted. Distant.
‘Sorry Rosie, I can’t. It wouldn’t be right. I’ve been meaning to tell you. I need to leave tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow! But why?’
‘I’m already a week behind schedule. You always knew I’d have to go at some point.’
‘I know, but I thought…’ I scrambled to my feet. ‘Can you take me home please?’
Bob Dylan sang his painful, melodic poetry to us as we journeyed in silence.
‘Bye Dex.’ I slammed the door behind me and stormed up the garden path, my eyes prickling with unshed tears.
Unable to sleep, I looked as dreadful as I felt by the time I arrived at work the following morning. Mr C instinctively knew better than to ask any questions. Every minute felt like an eternity as I clock watched, desperate for the day to be over. As five ‘o’ clock approached the pain became unbearable and I thought my heart would burst as I pulled on my coat and said my goodbyes.
As I stepped out into the evening sun, I heard the faint sounds of Bob Dylan, and the guttural roar of the diesel engine as it made its way up the hill.
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