It's been months since I wrote anything, but I was determined to get back on the horse, so to speak. So here, for this week's Flash Fiction Friday, is a story that includes the words Frenetic, Hobbit and Cummerbund.
Mind Your Head
He didn’t care if Bilbo Baggins from The
Hobbit had worn one, he wasn’t going to wear the pissing thing. Adds a bit of
class, she’d said, makes you look like somebody. Well she could fuck off, he
was somebody and if he didn’t want a cravat, he wasn’t going to wear it. And,
why the fuck would a fictional character wearing one be an incentive for him to
wear the poncing thing?
“You nearly ready, dear?” she called up
the stairs.
“Yes.”
“No need to snap.”
“I wasn’t snapping.” He paused, looked
in the mirror. He was snapping, his face was red. Red mist rising, that’s what
he called it. Back again from the depths of nowhere, ready to take him to that
place. So dark that place; hellish, frenetic, scary. Scary was the worst part:
the ideas it gave him, the things it wanted him to do.
“Your cummerbund’s down here if you’re
looking for it.”
He looked at the mirror, saw his burning
eyes. Ten deep breaths, that’s what he needed. Calm the heart, lower the blood
pressure. Calmness breaking, he shook his head. Surely everyone felt like this
at times? The great unspoken state. He knew there was red mist in everyone. Most
just hid it better than himself. Everyone had the potential though. Everyone.
Downstairs, cummerbund and cravat didn’t
feel too bad. He looked stupid though. Like some nonce or theatre goer, but it
was just for one day. Helen looked great. Blue dress, just above the knee,
showing off those great knee caps. The large hat obscured her carefully
prepared hair. Smiling at him, she lay her head on her right shoulder.
“Doesn’t look so bad. You never know,
you might actually enjoy today.”
He turned away. Ten more breaths as he
picked up his keys and suit jacket. She really didn’t help sometimes. Maybe she
was in on it. They all were. Everyone was in on it. It was wind up Derek week
and she was the fucking cheerleader.
Ten more breaths as he walked to
the kitchen. Glass of water, a look out at the garden. Neat rows of flowers and
veg. Calming that’s what it was, all that effort to raise and grow flowers from
tiny seeds. All that effort. Yet that voice, the one in his head. It told him to smash the trellis, rip the heads off the flowers, pour
weedkiller on the tomato plants. He clenched his fists. Clenching was the only thing
sometimes. The only thing that stopped him.
A few more deep breaths and he walked back
to the living room. “We ready then?” he asked.
She said the service had gone well, but
he wasn’t so sure. The groom messed up his lines and the page boy cried throughout.
If that was well, what would a disaster be like? Onto the reception after ten
thousand photos were taken. Sat at a table with her relatives. Polite
conversation. Hands under the table, clenched. Small talk, he’d never been any good at it. How’s work, golf,
the garden, they’d always say. Always scout round the big questions. How’s your
head? Where’s your mind at today? How many times in the last week have you
thought of killing someone? Really, only two? Oh you are improving. Why I
thought of killing three myself and I’m not messed up in any way.
“You okay?” she whispered.
He turned, looked at her. Her eyes read
concern and hidden tears. She mouthed the words, we can go outside? Get some
air?
He shook his head. This was her day. Her
cousin’s day to be precise. It wasn’t about him. Two deep breaths as the waiter
came over, started laying cutlery.
“You play golf, Derek?” asked someone.
Her uncle Rob, that’s who he thought he was. Something big in insurance in the Home
Counties.
He shook his head. “Never really tried.”
“We should have a round sometime. All of
us. No better way to spend a Sunday morning.”
The pompous laugh at his own unfunny
joke. It wasn’t even a joke just small talk. He looked down at the table.
Waiter had just place two knives, two forks and a spoon. One was a steak knife.
Very sharp. The voice in his head - How many can you take? There’s fifty people
in this room? How many can you kill before someone stops you? Bet you can do
them all? Go on....
How many could he kill? He clenched his
fists and stood up. He hoped he’d make it outside without finding out.
