UPDATE
I got the Special Challenge Champion Award for this. Official Announcement here

Alissa Leonard has created the “Finish That Thought” Flash Fiction compo, which usually provides an opening line and some ‘special challenge’ words to include, and must be less than 500 words. This week’s compo opening line was “Her mind was seized with a sense of terror so intense she wept.” and the special challenge words were: stiletto, umbrella and gravy.

Here is my story, if you don’t want to see it posted in its original place:

“For Better and Worse”
by Dr. Mike Reddy (@doctormikereddy) [500 words, special challenge accepted]

Her mind was seized with a sense of terror so intense she wept. “I can’t…” she sobbed, “I can’t marry him. Not like this!” As if to emphasise the point she gestured to her fine white gown.

“It’s just nerves,” I soothed, “Ok, it’s a bit tight. You’ve put on a few pounds. That’s all. I was a ‘little’ plump when I got married.”

“More than a lit…” her Father started then decided not to finish the thought. “Sally, you look lovely. And before you ask, no the stiletto heels do not make you look taller than Geoff.”

“I’m TALLER than Geoff! Oh God, it gets worse!” the bride to be burst into tears.

“We’ll done, Bill. Here, take this…” I thrust an umbrella into his unexpecting hands. “…and find somewhere for it!” I shoved him out of the changing room, grabbed some tissues from her handbag and turned to face a despondent daughter.

“What is it?” I asked, mopping tear filled mascara from the girl’s cheeks. A waste of money that make over was. The uncharitable thought only consoled by the fact Sally had insisted she paid for everything herself. Geoff not being ‘financially’ able to contribute. No gravy train of a rich husband for my little girl. Not yet anyway. It was all tied up in trust funds until he had produced an heir.

Sally was too soft, like her father. Sadly, it also meant my ‘mother’s duty’ of meddling had been neatly side-stepped. Not paying for the thing had removed the ‘gratitude’, the one bit of leverage a woman could have used to justify interference. It was deeply frustrating.

Sally took the tissue, folded it, then wiped her face with the fresh side. “It’s because I’m in white, Mother. It’s a sacrilege. I’m not a virgin. I’m carrying Geoff’s baby… That’s why the dress is tight.” She looked up into my eyes with a pathetic search for disapproval. “You must hate me now.”

Now? Why just now? I had only become pregnant to keep her father from leaving me. There were times when I wasn’t sure the bargain had been worth it. Stupid brat wasn’t even his! And he hadn’t been that great a catch after all, since I had inherited far more money from a relative than his entire family had. Thank God for the Pre-Nup! Now it was all about appearances. We both had impeccable reputations to maintain. Pillars of the community, and all that.

“Let me tell you something. You weren’t premature, like your Father believes. I paid a doctor off. I was three months pregnant when I walked down the aisle. And you have an heir. Geoff will be pleased!”

“Three? I thought you had a ‘whirlwind romance?”

“Oh… three… yes. Anyway…”

“Dad… are you hearing this?”

Why was she speaking into the bouquet?

“We got her! Proof of infidelity prior to marriage. The Pre-Nup’s invalid. You can take the bitch to the cleaners. And YOU’RE paying for the wedding.”

Here is my (ineligible) submission if you don’t want to see the original piece:

[500 words, special challenge accepted]

Title: “Get it? Got it. Good!”

“His son watched as he was snatched away.”

“What? Wait… Who?”

Vague pronouns? Seriously? Not the best start to a school report.

“Ghandi.” the word came out half chewed. I glanced at the term paper in front of me. Yup the red ink surrounded the title.

Who’s gHandi?” I asked. The H forced out deliberately, like the scrape of a hastily opened curtain.

“Whatcha mean ‘Who’s Ghandi?’ You know. The Guy… the guy we had to write about!”

A general chuckle of approval from the other students seemed to bolster the young man’s resolve to dive into the water of education and yet remain completely dry. He smiled to his audience, especially those he thought were the hottest chicks. Idly I wondered if their lack of clothing was cause or effect. Either way, no one had their minds on one of the greatest political thinkers of the last century.

“By any chance, do you mean Gandhi?

“Huh?”

“G A N D H I” Each letter alliterated in chalk on the board. “There is no ‘Ghandi’.”

“There is no… Is this some Zen thing, Mr Coulter?”

“No, Mr. Carter. Although Gandhi was influenced by many religions, his practical philosophy of passive resistance was based on Hindu and Jain teachings”

“Who’s Jane, Mr Coulter? And what’s a hen d…”

“Zac. We aren’t doing the ‘What’s a hen do?’ joke again are we?”

From the back of the class “Lay eggs!” was heard from various quarters, accompanied by titters of intolerance. Clearly we were doing the ‘hen do’ joke again.

“Who can tell me what ‘passive resistance’ is?” I scanned the auditorium hopefully.

“Ask Sandy. She’s pretty passive in her resistance most Friday nights!”

Zac high fived his nearest conspirator, as most of the males in the room hooted their approval. I expected to be warmed by Sandy’s reddened cheeks, but she simply hooked arms with her neighbours in sisterly silence. Something, I wasn’t sure what, was brewing.

“That’s ok, Mr. C…” she silenced me before I had the chance to admonish the boys, “If we have to ‘put up’ we won’t ‘put out’ will we girls…”

A chorus of ‘uh uh’s, ‘na hah’s and ‘no way’s swept across the classroom. I shouldn’t have laughed, but the boys were slower on the uptake.

“What’s she saying?” Zac gazed round the room. His compadres were suddenly more interested in the floor or the window. They got it.

“Without wanting to put words in Miss Lawson’s mouth, but I think she’s wanting an apology, or none of you will have… er… dates this weekend. Is that correct, Sandy?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. C.” Sandy flicked round expectantly to Zac. “We’re waiting… Mr. Carter…” she smirked conspiratorially at the other young women. They got it.

“Ok. Sorry.” Zac slowly deflated.

“Sandy, a perfect example of ‘passive resistance’ if I ever saw one. You get ten out of ten.”

“Gee, Mr. C! That’s my first ever A!” she grinned up at me, “Awesomes!”

“Sandy, you deserved it.”