That One Text…



It seemed like a good idea at the time, Friday night neighborhood drinks at Kevin’s loft.

With its brick face walls and its antique saloon bar, good times were always to be had there. And besides it was the end of the month, and I was eager to lose myself amongst a whole lot of unknown people, being loud, likely overbearing, definitely drunk, telling half stories to make themselves seem more interesting.

It wasn’t what I found though. The loft was quiet as I got out of the lift. There he was, seated on that old brown leather couch, a bottle of Merlot uncorked in the middle of the dense square wooden table that his feet rested on.

I looked at him confused. I thought it was neighborhood drinks night, I said.

It is.

Where is everyone then?

Everyone’s now here Neighbour.

That is the moment I should have walked out, but I didn’t.

And now here I am screaming like crazy trying to push out a pair of babies that are fighting inside of me to see who can make it out first.

Who would have known that responding to a simple text would have resulted in trading my single girl stilettos for booties for twins.

Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Week #2 – 2016. 

Requirements: Create a 200 word flash story using the photo prompt and the provided first sentence.


2 thoughts on “That One Text…

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