Worthing Flash

by Paul Beckman SG She’s got a button nose. I’ve always been turned on by a button nose. Of course, I’ve been known to get attached to a hook nose or an upturned nose or even a nose with Miss Piggy-like wide nostrils. What can I say? I like noses. FD He wears braces. I like that word better than suspenders. I’ve always had a thing for braces. My father and his brothers all wore them, and they looked dignified and would hook their thumbs underneath and snap them. Sometimes they’d do it together when they got up from the dinner table on the count of three and they’d always pick me to count. I guess I really should call his suspenders because they didn’t button onto his pants but are held by little alligator clips. He also wears a belt. A take-no-chances kind of guy. SG Her button nose matches the buttons on her overcoat. I like that. I’m not sure I like her haircut though. Her severe bangs cut across her face mid-way into her eyebrows. I’d like to tell her to move those b

In splendid isolation, I have been "attending" church and political meetings and family gatherings using Zoom (other video conferencing systems are available) and writing some stories for the Durrington Detective Agency series. I am also taking the opportunity for Bible study and working with Python Turtle programming. (Other ways of enjoying yourself are of course possible) I know lockdown may mean homeschooling your children so best of luck with that. If you can find time to write anything for #worthingflash it will be most welcome. We are approaching the milestone of 13000 visitors to the blog. As you know the only rule is a maximum limit of 1000 words. The email address is worthingflash@gmail.com

The birds had deserted their usual feeding places in the back garden. In the shadow of a shrub was the cat with no name. The appearance of the cat was startling. In the shadows, her white face was unexpected and somehow sinister. She had a solid mocking stare. The cat's stare said, ”you don't have any secrets, not from me.” My imagination was getting the better of me. There was no way this cat could know. Yet her intent gaze said, “oh really?” Later in the day, I saw a blackbird on the lawn. I know blackbirds tease cats at the peril of their own lives. So I looked around. The white cat had gone. I breathed a sigh of relief. As I walked home in the twilight, the wall of a neighbouring cottage didn't look quite right. The cat was sitting perfectly still and blending in with the white of the cottage wall. Her eyes were on me again. From then on, she seemed to haunt me and I could tell my fears were getting the better of me. I was “losing my ner

He said, “You don’t understand about commitment.” I passed him the bowl. I carefully placed inside it a portion of the dessert I had spent all afternoon constructing. I didn’t make it often because the ingredients are very expensive. But I knew he liked it. And today was a kind of anniversary. I wanted to please him. The last thing I wanted was an argument. Especially the same old pattern. He’d talk about choice and how occasional backsliding was only natural. How nothing could be perfect but we all had to work at relationships. I’d try to stay calm, not to provoke him, not to displease him. Sometimes I was so quiet he called me meek. Or even weak. Which made me less interesting than I used to be, at the start. It seems a long time ago, but actually not that long. Not considering. Considering it was supposed to be a commitment for life. I am not physically weak. I can cook, clean, carry shopping, move furniture, chop logs. I go to work every day, even when I have

I had finally gotten settled into first grade when the principal walked in with her hand on a girl’s shoulder and announced, “Boys and girls this is Constance. She just moved to town and will be in this class. Constance, there are six empty seats, chose one.”  The Principal turned the expressionless Constance towards the class. She looked like a cartoon figure—a skinny girl with stringy brown hair, wearing a dress made from rice sacks and lace. Her socks must’ve slid down her legs to lie on her mud-streaked shoes. Without looking around she walked down the aisle and she sat in the empty seat next to me I nodded but I wanted to hold my nose. She smelled. I knew what sweat smelled like, but she didn’t smell of sweat, she smelled a strange soap or perfume smell that I feared was going to leap off her and onto me. We stayed at our seats for lunch and the teacher passed out little cartons of white or chocolate milk and a straw. I had a system. I took chocolate if I had meat and white milk