Helen: Chapter Five
I’ve been really jonesing to write some more fiction, but I am also knee-deep in a novel revise and rewrite, so I’ve made a compromise with myself: Allie’s take on flash fiction. Each week, I will craft another 100-word chapter for Helen’s story. Want to join us? It’ll take less than a minute of your time.
She hadn’t seen him since her graduation from Kent. Though much had changed—the paunch over his belt had diminished, as had his hairline—much more remained the same. Helen looked up once more, for the briefest of moments, to confirm his identity, while praying that he couldn’t discern hers from such a fleeting glance. And perhaps he’d mistaken her initial yelp for indigestion. Helen scrabbled for her sunglasses and her copy of The Times, feeling like a poorly-xeroxed Philip Marlowe facsimile. Wordless minutes passed, and her inhale began to match her exhale.
“Jesus, Helen. You look bloody ridiculous.”