Flash Fiction Fun Times
Technically for the past 2 (3?) years I've been writing flash fiction. What is flash fiction you might ask? It's a super short story under 1000 words. I figured it was time for a new blog post and thought I'd post something I wrote in January.
Oh and don't forget to enter the giveaway! (one blog post down)
Fun fact: This is not edited. Don't judge too harshly.
Shot Glass Need Not Apply
K.C. Stewart
What kind of liquor you choose says a lot about the kind of drunk you want to get.
Wine: When in the right hands, classy. When in her hands, a giggle fest.
Vodka: The go-to, all around party drink. Or in Charley’s case, the migraine inducing agony hour.
Rum: The marathon drink. A steady paced drunk that will get you from start to finish even if those points are hours away from each other.
Whiskey: The just-give-me-the-bottle drunk.
Tequila: Shit just got serious.
The question of the hour was, what kind of drunk did Charley want to be? As she stared at her choices, she caught sight of what other people were choosing inside the liquor store. They all seemed to have no problem knowing what they wanted to become as the night went on. Two young women grabbed large bottle of moscoto stumbling slightly in their mile high heels. A man old with experience but not in years was stocking up on vodka, grabbing as many bottles of Vladimir as he could hold against his week old dirty shirt. Across the aisle another was buying top shelf tequila while dressed in a perfectly cut three piece black suit.
The liquor store: the one place where everyone is welcome no matter your status or situation. Drunk is a universal language we all share.
Charley’s problem wasn’t as simple as a broken heart, a terminated job, or simply a party where they would all pretend they were in their college prime again. She needed friends to party, and Charley wondered at times if she even had a heart to break. As for her job, she was being blackmailed into working there so she was confident that she wouldn’t be fired anytime soon.
“Thank you Mr. Sloane for job security.” She murmured sarcastically to the bottles of amber liquor.
She didn’t actually have a problem that needed to be drowned in alcohol, it was more of a ritual. Work kept her busy during the day, and most nights if she was lucky. It kept her feet and brain moving, not allowing time for any thought of her own. It was on her mandatory days off that she drank herself into oblivion. She drank to quiet the voices yelling out at her to hide, run away… kill them all. They yammered on and on all day long, if she let her guard down for more than a second then she would be overrun with hatred. Her prejudices were so severe that the only way to silence them was to drink, and drink a lot.
So what kind of drunk was she looking for? Charley stepped forward, a strand of strawberry blonde hair fell from the messy bun of hair piled on top of her head into her face. She blew a puff of air to blow it out of her face as her hand curled around the neck of a whiskey bottle. Tonight she would be enjoying a nice bottle of Tullamore Dew 12 year old special reserve.
Shot glass need not apply.
Oh and don't forget to enter the giveaway! (one blog post down)
Fun fact: This is not edited. Don't judge too harshly.
Shot Glass Need Not Apply
K.C. StewartWhat kind of liquor you choose says a lot about the kind of drunk you want to get.
Wine: When in the right hands, classy. When in her hands, a giggle fest.
Vodka: The go-to, all around party drink. Or in Charley’s case, the migraine inducing agony hour.
Rum: The marathon drink. A steady paced drunk that will get you from start to finish even if those points are hours away from each other.
Whiskey: The just-give-me-the-bottle drunk.
Tequila: Shit just got serious.
The question of the hour was, what kind of drunk did Charley want to be? As she stared at her choices, she caught sight of what other people were choosing inside the liquor store. They all seemed to have no problem knowing what they wanted to become as the night went on. Two young women grabbed large bottle of moscoto stumbling slightly in their mile high heels. A man old with experience but not in years was stocking up on vodka, grabbing as many bottles of Vladimir as he could hold against his week old dirty shirt. Across the aisle another was buying top shelf tequila while dressed in a perfectly cut three piece black suit.
The liquor store: the one place where everyone is welcome no matter your status or situation. Drunk is a universal language we all share.
Charley’s problem wasn’t as simple as a broken heart, a terminated job, or simply a party where they would all pretend they were in their college prime again. She needed friends to party, and Charley wondered at times if she even had a heart to break. As for her job, she was being blackmailed into working there so she was confident that she wouldn’t be fired anytime soon.
“Thank you Mr. Sloane for job security.” She murmured sarcastically to the bottles of amber liquor.
She didn’t actually have a problem that needed to be drowned in alcohol, it was more of a ritual. Work kept her busy during the day, and most nights if she was lucky. It kept her feet and brain moving, not allowing time for any thought of her own. It was on her mandatory days off that she drank herself into oblivion. She drank to quiet the voices yelling out at her to hide, run away… kill them all. They yammered on and on all day long, if she let her guard down for more than a second then she would be overrun with hatred. Her prejudices were so severe that the only way to silence them was to drink, and drink a lot.
So what kind of drunk was she looking for? Charley stepped forward, a strand of strawberry blonde hair fell from the messy bun of hair piled on top of her head into her face. She blew a puff of air to blow it out of her face as her hand curled around the neck of a whiskey bottle. Tonight she would be enjoying a nice bottle of Tullamore Dew 12 year old special reserve.
Shot glass need not apply.
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