It seems that the first Imagine, Write, Inspire Flash Fiction Competition is beginning to gain some momentum.  More entries have arrived in so lots to share over the coming days.  

This evening I have an entry from an aspiring writer who has done a wonderful job showing us that sometimes, things are not quite as they may first appear.  I’m sure you will enjoy this every bit as much as I did.

If you want to play catch up on the competition thus far, click here:-

http://carmelharrington.com/category/2013-imagine-write-inspire-flash-fiction-competition/

And please do show some support for all our writers by liking those stories you enjoy and maybe leaving a comment or two.  Thank you to everyone so far who has been so supportive.  Lastly, don’t forget to click the ‘Follow’ button on the right hand side to make sure you don’t miss any further entries.

Have a lovely evening, Carmel x

  Under the skin by Lorraine Palles

You shouldn’t drag your hair back like that Angie. It makes your ears stand out. I have to tie it back mother, I’m cooking! I hope you’re not using butter to fry those eggs Angie, sits on your hips so it does.

Angie clenched the handle of the frying pan and considered the repercussions. She loosened her grip. She had her father to think about.

Angie loathed the time spent with her mother. She insisted on inviting herself for brunch on Saturdays. To Angie it had always felt more like an invasion than brunch.

Her mother stood and started to pace around the room, running her pale, bony finger with painted claw along the top of the surfaces. There it was, her mother exhaled long, loud, slow. Hhhmmm tut tut tut. That incessant tutting! Angie knew her mother’s little turns around the room were for an opportunistic glance or snoop into her bedroom. Angie would never let her in. She had it locked and her laundry basket strategically placed in front of the door. Her mother peered into the corridor, her eyes burning at the door. She would never let her in.

You’ll never find a man if you don’t take pride in your appearance you know, or your home her mother stated knowingly. There’s nothing wrong with me mother. I’m busy in work; I will find someone in my own time. Angie tried to sound convincing. Even to herself.

Her mother’s tirade continued as she tipped small boxes on the shelves and scrutinised their contents. The final straw came with a remark about the cat litter tray being too close to the dining table. Angie flung the frying pan into the sink. It made a load crash as it unsettled the pile of dishes underneath. Get out mother she said through gritted teeth. Get out now. Angie turned to look at her mother frozen on the spot. Her face was stuck in its usual botoxed expression but her eyes were offended. I said get out mother, I’ve heard enough. Her mother grabbed her handbag, I didn’t raise you to speak to me like that, how dare you! Angie ushered her to the door and slammed it before her mother could react. Fists clenched she stormed over to the bedroom door and fumbled with the key. Once inside Angie sat breathing slowly and deeply just staring at the wall. On the bed beside her she noticed the newspaper open on the cinema listings. She glanced at the clock, it was still early. She didn’t need to meet him for another couple of hours.

That evening Angie made her way to the Cineplex. There he was, standing under the neon glow of the billboard. A perfect gentleman she thought. He stood proudly, whistling to himself in his grey wool blend coat and cap. He hadn’t spotted her so she stood observing him for a minute. She loved his burgundy scarf. It brought out the flush in his cheery cheeks. He flashed her that broad grin. Hey chicken! He chirped, how are ya? Hi dad, I’m great, she lied as she pulled him in for a hug.

They stood for a few minutes scanning the board for a suitable film. Angie noticed the latest Jennifer Aniston flick, the thought of the rows being full of irritating couples full of their own self importance made her sick. Ah something sci-fi, that would do, there would be a few loners in there.

They sat at the back; Angie liked to be far back. She had a good view of others from there. It made her uneasy to think someone was looking at her from behind.

Her eyes clamped on someone two rows down and slightly to the left. She had the perfect view. His side profile was pleasant. Salt and pepper hair, pale, smooth skin, flushed cheeks. He was alone.

Angie shifted in her seat; she let her shoulders sink into the leather and shovelled a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She studied his face; she traced his hair line with her intense eyes from his temple down to where his locks formed tiny curls in front of a deformed ear. Rugby she thought.

Her father’s nudge and offer of a minstrel dragged her back to the room. The lights dimmed and the film rolled. A straggler pushing the cinema door brought a dust filled beam of light streaming in. The woman climbed the steps hurriedly, scanning the crowd as she went. Angie’s heart began to race; she hoped she wouldn’t stop two rows down and slightly to the left. She bundled into the seat next to Mr. Rugby. He gave a low chuckle and kissed her cheek. Angie could feel the pulse in her ears, hot and red. Her fist dug into the popcorn. Her father flinched. She removed her hand slowly and gave her father a coy smile as she sank lower into her chair. She could still view him from there but not her.

The credits began to roll and Angie’s father made a dash for the loo. Angie hung back and pretended to rummage in her bag. As the last person left the screen Angie crept down the steps like a child at Christmas and moved into his seat. It was warm she thought. His used ticket stub lay crumpled on the floor. She carefully smoothed out the creases on her thigh and placed it gently in a tissue she retrieved from her pocket. That will fit in nicely on the bedroom wall she thought.

Lorraine Palles is 26 years old and lives in Dublin with her boyfriend of eight years and their dog Cash. She has been writing poetry and short stories for many years but only recently with support from friends and family completed a twelve week creative writing course. She enjoys being able to convey emotion through her writing and recently shared a very emotional and personal piece in a class which she found very liberating. She found the discipline of the class and the support from other writers a great confidence boost. Almost everyone in the class had ‘THE FEAR’ so the support was fantastic. She is now hoping to find her voice through writing groups and workshops.