I’m pleased to share the winning entry of April’s Flash Fiction Competition! The theme for April was ‘beautiful’, and the judges enjoyed Nicky’s short story about a disillusioned mother and the relationship with her son.
You can read her winning story below:
Perfect day for it. Could have gone either way, really. If I’d gone to the gym first I’d have talked myself out of it, definitely. An endorphin-fuelled shallow sense of contentment. No, it was now-or-never. Done with the pretence, too old to care what people think. Growing this thick-skin recently felt bloody amazing. With the big year approaching, well, it’s just shouting out for a big decision, isn’t it? Besides, I still haven’t struck off half the things on my bucket list. Been all about you from the start; you, my one and only, my son. Now nearly 16. You’d get it; you of everyone. You’d been allowed to follow your dreams. Me, parenting solo, always was over-compensating for the absent one. There had been the trumpet years, the Nintendo years, the karate obsession, the violin and drama classes. The holidays to Disney and Thorpe Park. I was there enjoying myself too, don’t get me wrong. But not properly. Worry always there. Would you fit in at your new school? Worry I’d get a knock on the door at midnight with news you’d been in a road accident. Would you pass your exams? Would you start to resent me for my failed relationship? Any hopes and plans of my own were discarded, buried with my former self. Just what you have to do, what we all do, isn’t it? My life coach kept cheering me on that now I had to step into my own power.
Gave you a hug, pulled you close to my chest this morning as you went to kiss me goodbye. Smell of your shampooed hair made me wobble. “Mum! Get off! My mates will see.” Don’t think I didn’t spot that smile fighting with your top lip there.
“Your dad’s picking you up today from football. Don’t be late.” Christ, how I said that so matter-of-factly. So driven lately. Nothing was going to get in the way. Been paying an arm and a leg for those life coaching sessions. About time my investment paid off.
“Can’t you, Mum? Don’t wanna see him. I’m old enough now to make my own decisions.”
“All in good time, love.” Waving a bit too manically as you hurry out the car. When did you get so tall? Catching a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror, I wince. When did I get so lined?
I’m putting my foot down. Driving past the school playing fields, past the railway tracks, swing onto the ring road. Clock the traffic sign for Dover. Open the glove compartment. Guide book, check. Euros check. One way to Calais. Check. Shoulders drop, face muscles relax. I switch the dial from Radio 4 to Kiss fm. Bill Withers. I tap out the beat on the steering wheel, joining in. ‘And the world’s alright with me…’ The light bouncing off the windows on the houses in front never looked so beautiful.
The Flash Fiction Competition is returning on Tuesday 1st August 2017. Check the Flash Fiction page for more information!
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