Monday, 19 April 2010

A Random Story (in less than 500 words)

The Hound of Consequence

The phone rang. Al dropped the potato he was peeling and rushed to the hall.
“If that’s Brenda and Gary, we’re not visiting them,” Sara said catching the potato as it rolled off the work surface.
“What! Why?”
“I can’t explain it. I’ve just got a bad feeling about tonight, so say no, ok?”
Al answered the call. “Hello. Yes I know it’s you Brenda. Well, I’m afraid we can’t make it, we have ummm…”
Sara opened up a newspaper and thrust the cinema listings at Al.
“We’re going to the cinema tonight to seeeeee,” Al followed Sara’s finger. “Final Destination… Is it? Well, we’ll be the judge of that. I’ll pass that on, bye.”
Al hung up.
“You angel,” Sara said and kissed Al on the cheek.

Later, Al and Sara were driving to the cinema.
“What are we going to see?” Al said.
“We could see The Final Destination.”
“Seen it.”
“You haven’t. This is The Final Destination. You’ve seen Final Destination - the first one - and its two sequels. This is the new one.”
“Final Destination 4?”
“Yes, but it’s called The Final Destination because it is, at the moment, the final Final Destination. The ‘the’ is very important.”
“The ‘the’ is very confusing.”

At Brenda and Gary’s house Brenda was in the kitchen arranging her guests’ drinks on a floral tray. She lifted the tray, felt its weight and considered asking Gary for help, then shrugged the idea off, approached the kitchen door - which was only open a smidgen - and expertly opened it with her knee. She was about to alert her guests when the edge of the rug nearest her right foot inexplicably lifted, causing her to fall forward, releasing the tray. A deluge of glass, liquid and Brenda fell onto the rug. Gary ran to her aid.

The next morning, after wondering around the house, mug of coffee in hand, following Sara’s fragrant trail from the bathroom, down the stairs, to the front door, Al was preparing for another job-hunting day. He sat in the conservatory, placed the mug on a table and looked out into the garden. A bullfinch sat on the fence; its chirps were the only sound breaking absolute peace.
Al turned his laptop on and supped his coffee. He looked back into the garden, the bullfinch had gone – absolute peace.
Until the nearest window’s handle moved down by itself. The window slowly opened. A howling wind squeezed through the gap and snaked around Al who was buffeted by the roaring force.
The howling stopped.
Silence returned.
Al caught his breath then gasped: his mug inched forward then balanced on its side before completely tipping over, spilling his coffee.
The howling wind returned, snaked Al and exiting through the window.
Al's crotch grew warm from the coffee spilling off the table. Stunned, he looked into the garden; a bullfinch sat on the fence.
Then the phone rang. It was Sara.

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