A couple of weeks ago I posted one of my flash stories on this blog. At the time I suggested that I might post more, but circumstances beyond my control meant that I haven’t gotten around to it. So,I figured I really ought to. For the next few weeks, I’ll treat you to a Monday Morning Flash. If it proves popular, I’ll try and keep it up. I’ve got eighteen older flash stories already written, one of which I’ve already posted. That leaves seventeen. Seventeen weeks of Monday Morning Flashes. And who knows, I might even open up the feature to some guest authors.
This first one is special to me because it’s the very first story I ever had published – over at Ruthie’s Club. It wasn’t the first one accepted – that was the longer, Scratched – but it was accepted soon after that and the publishing schedule meant it got released first.
Enjoy.
Accident Report
(300 words)Gem loved fast cars.
When we first met, I had a little MG-F roadster. It was one of the things that attracted her. On country roads, hitting fifty around the bends, her pleasure was etched all over her face. But we had a problem. The roadster had no back seat, and the front seats didn’t tip back. We made out this one time, at lover’s leap overlooking the town. We were desperate to go further, but the gear stick got in the way.
When I asked Gem to marry me, she agreed on the condition that I sold the MG and bought a car with a back seat. I went for a VW Golf GTi. The engine purred almost as sweetly as Gem. On the motorways, pulling at least eighty, Gem would slide her hand onto my leg and squeeze. I’d push down on the gas, and we’d top ninety. By the time her hand reached my crotch, we’d hit the ton.
When the children came along, we needed a bigger car. I made sure it still kicked ass. Gem would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t. BMW M5. Expensive and powerful. The back seat had more than enough room for the kids. It gave Gem and me plenty of space to have some fun, too.
For her fiftieth birthday, I treated her to a proper sports car. An Aston Martin BD7 convertible. Gem was a James Bond fan. In the country one summer afternoon, Gem caressed her gear knob as I eased through the bends. I’m sure she stained the leather seats. I tried valiantly to keep my eyes on the road. She leaned over, unzipped, and went down on me.
The newspaper report hangs on our bedroom wall. The headline reads: Distracted Driver Destroys Historic Tree.
