September Flashes

This month’s parameters were:

Length: 101 words

Key words: “the pub”

Object: Window. Make of that what you will.

Other rule: NO ADVERBS


Title: The Pub Across the Street

Word Count: 101

Genevieve likes to look out the window, to the pub across the street. An addiction? Downstairs is consumed by the bakery her parents own. In the summer, before dark, behind curtains of lace with their one-wayedness, she feels unseen. Her mother mentions it to friends or customers, when the conversation warrants, and it has warranted, when the talk’s turned to their children,
“That girl and that window! I don’t understand it at all. Does your daughter spend her time looking through a window, Mrs Jones?”
“No. Well, um, yes I suppose, if you count her social media life as ‘a window’”.


Title: The Pub

Word Count: 101

Johnny climbed up on the rock, clutching the windowsill. Stretching his small frame he peered through the window of the pub. He saw his father sitting at the bar, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. Shouting abuse at the men gathered around the bar.
“Come on Lionel, it’s your shout you bloody mongrel”.
Johnny trembled. He was to fetch his father home for tea. He knew the anger of his father, but his mother’s rage was worse. He jumped off the rock, headed around to the front, and stood.
With a feeling of dread, he pushed open the door.



Title:  The Window

Word Count: 101

Nothing was what it seemed. Take this heavenly pub they found themselves in, blue and white check tablecloths, fat white candle stubs in bottles with a rainbow dribble of wax, windows depicting a tableau of frozen flames. The boatman carrying them across the river from the other side had been a bit odd, true, but not like her son on a bad night. It was that awful drug ice that made him so angry. Reflections from the red and gold window panes splashed across her dress, blurring the torn fabric and bloodstains. Where was the door? Outside somewhere, her son howled.


Title: Mrs

Word Count: 100

This morning I awaken to the sound of kookaburras laughing. The country is the place to live. Riding my bike, I fetch my mail. The pub I pass is for sale. It would be a great place to meet the locals. I am sure the ‘for sale’ sign is winking at me. This morning I receive an upsetting letter. It informs me of my Aunt’s death and money bequeathed to me. I take a big breath and think. Fortunate or unfortunate? Me, the owner of a country pub. This could be the window of opportunity I’ve been looking for.


Title: A Constant Vibrato

Word Count: 98

It was standing room at the pub. I pushed in but when the crowd exhaled I was expelled.

The trio was on stage behind the front window. I settled outside for a back view of the band, including the trombone player.

It can be easy to overlook the trombone player, but not this one. He was relaxed and lanky, his hair in a bun. When the jazz ended, he turned to the window. Our eyes met.

The glass between us reminded me of where I’d seen him — three years ago at the Carthage jail.


Title: The Pub Cat

Word Count: 101

Len was refuelling the motormower in the pub’s backyard, his habitual cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth,  a ticking counter of his few words. From the windowsill, the cat watched. Inside, Sam the publican, struggling with a pile of dirty dishes did not see the broom on the floor where it had been flung by the chef before he quit  the night before. The crash as
he fell startled the cat who leapt clawing onto Lens  back. His scream still echoed after the fireball burst into the sky. The cat licked its paws behind the geraniums on the sill.


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