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.