This is a story that I’ve entered into a flash fiction contest. Tell me what you think about it or how I can improve it. Remember you have to get a beginning, climax and ending within 400 words. The instructions were to write no more than 400 words concerning a secret. I hope you enjoy.
“Are you going to tell him?” Mattie asked.
“Heavens no, this is my secret. I told you because you’re my best friend, and I know I can trust you.” Angie sat at the table with her cup of tea.
She was pale around the eyes and mouth. “I am doing this on my own. I’m thirty-four years old, and I know this is the right thing for me.”
“It may be right for you, but girl you look like crap. Do you want another cup of tea?”
Mattie went to the stove and brought the teapot back to the table. She asked Angie if she eats enough food.
Angie replied, “Yes, I am. I can take care of myself. Stop worrying about me.”
“How do you think you’re going to pull off leaving, when he barely lets you out of his sight?”
Angie thought of the days ahead with John, as she sipped her tea. Her excitement showed.
Mattie looked at her, seeing the smile, said, “Ok, girlfriend, spill the beans. I want to know what’s making you smile.”
“I have to go home.”
“Angie, remember, no matter what, I’m your friend.” Mattie grabbed Angie hugging her tightly.
“I’ll be in touch, and don’t worry,” Angie said as they broke apart. She walked back to her house. Her bedroom light was on. Crap, he must know I’m not in my room. I’ll walk through the front door as the grown woman I am.
After she entered the house, she almost made it to the stairs before she heard her father’s harsh voice.
“Angie, is that you?”
“Yes, father, it’s me.”
“Come here immediately,” her father bellowed.
Angie walked into the library ready for battle. Her father, kicked back in the recliner with a drink in his hand, asked “Where have you been?”
“I went to Mattie’s for tea. I left your dinner on the table.”
“It was cold. You are one lousy cook.”
“Yes, Father. I’m going to my room, goodnight, Father.”
The clock advanced slowly, but two a.m. arrived. She pulled her suitcase from beneath her bed, took one last look at her room and left. Her father appeared to be asleep when she opened the front door. As she stepped out into the night air, she took her first deep breath of freedom.
She whispered “John, are you here?”
“He’s not here,” her father whispered back.