Of late I've done one of two things. The first is gotten my writing mojo back a little bit, and the second is to get hooked on the TV series Once Upon A Time. Part-mystery, part-drama, and full-on fairytale-modern world mash-up, it's a sweetly inoffensive yet strangely gripping show.
And it ties nicely in with this competition - to celebrate National Flash Fiction Day on May 16th, the bloggers at Yearning for Wonderland are running a competition for flash fiction writers. 350 words of a story inspired by a twist on the traditional 'Once Upon A Time' fairy tale. Here's my entry...
'This station is Once Upon A Time. Change for national rail services to Happily Ever After.'
Some evening this had been, she thought forlornly, surveying the tattered remains of her tights as she stumbled hazily to a seat. Try as she might, she was yet to come home from even a day, let alone a night, out with her tights still ladder-free, and when your night ends with a mad dash for the last tube at midnight, coinciding with leaving your shoe on the other side of the barrier, you can't expect even 80 deniers to survive. Which these were not.
She looked down at her one remaining shoe with a mixture of sadness and frustration. They were new shoes too - bought on a whim with the remaining fraction of her paycheque that wasn't ferreted away by the taxmen and TFL. And Tesco. What's a girl to do? She took off the one remaining shoe and dangled it ruefully from her finger, scuffling her now-shoeless foot in an attempt to make it match the other foot for levels of tattiness.
Trust her to book the laziest cab driver in the world - when she said midnight she meant midnight, not whenever he finished his kebab. If prince-like gentlemen at the bar were designed to justify a dramatic 'mystery girl'-style exit, cab drivers were the proverbial gum on the underside of her shoes. Shoe. Another sigh as she contemplated the loss of the beautiful silver pump. She couldn't decide which was more sad - that she'd spent you-don't-want-to-know-how-much on a pair of shoes only to half their value within hours, or that she'd spent the evening flirting and dancing with a beautiful man with a black Amex and then didn't get his number. Opportunity missed there. Some other girl would have got him by now. And she'd never be able to afford to replace the shoes. Oh cruel world.
And she'd forgotten to buy bleach to scrub the bath with.