First World Problems
By Casey Douglass
as part of #fridayflash
The half-eaten jam tart slipped through the clasping fingers, the sticky digits closing together an instant too late as it entered free-fall. It flipped and turned lazily in the electric glow of the kitchen lights, the semi-loose metal foil holder glinting as it caught the yellow beams. Down it fell, a graceful arc of sweet pastry deciding to end its existence and avoid the digestive fate that had befallen its other half.
It hit the floor with a dull thump, the shiny silver metal uppermost, the pastry and strawberry jam kissing the slightly hairy carpet tiles. The red sugary pulp seeped out through a small crack in the side; a pool of blood around a suicide.
Neighbours three doors down heard the almighty expulsion; a string of swear words so profoundly wrong, that an old lady swooned and a Labrador soiled his masters bed.
Nothing would ever be the same again.