Each month I participate in Furious Fiction. It is a fast-paced, fun-filled weekend of crafting a 500 word story based upon the prompts and rules (that differ every time). If you are into writing or want to dip your toes back in the waters of creativity, have a go! You can check out the winning entry and the shortlisted pieces here. 

Here is my October entry.

…

‘Vicky? Is that you? Fancy running into you like this!’

The street felt drained of people. The hum permeating the awnings and cafe tables had vanished. I turned.

Britney.

Even the name rolled painfully. Did she expect me to welcome her? Aim poised kisses into the void? I stared at the furrow in her forehead, the pursed lips and the fiercely pencilled arches that hovered above her blinking eyes.

Her expression wavered, like a mirage. A hand moved to her hip and she shifted, the toe of her designer shoe aimed threateningly at the sky.

‘You can’t still be hanging onto the bonfire incident!’ The last two words echoed more loudly than she intended, the reverberation causing her to flinch. ‘That was years ago, Vicky.’

‘It’s Victoria, actually.’ I never liked that abhorrent shortening.

‘So how long are you in town?’ Slender fingers swiftly pulled out a cigarette. Her bored gaze pierced through the cloud of smoke.

I bit down on my lip, wincing at the burst of pain but buffeted slightly by the confirmation that, yes, this seemed to be real. Why is she even talking to me? Is it penitence? Some kind of sordid joke? My shoulder lifted limply in an attempt at a shrug.

‘Oh Vicky, you never were very good at conversation.’ Her laugh was coloured hues of scarlet and mockery. It jolted through me like a wave.

I straightened.

‘If we are being honest, Britney, you were never very good at being human.’ She choked on charcoal ash and spluttered. ‘And the ‘bonfire incident’ as you call it,’ my fingers scratched at the air, painting vehemence, ‘was the single, most horrific hour of my life.’

Her face patterned with colour, it was lighter and darker – a deathly white backdrop, with grey blooming under her spiteful eyes, spotlights of guilty red on her cheeks.

‘I-’

‘It was just a game, a silly prank, you didn’t mean for it to go wrong? I’ve heard it all before, and none of it even comes close to an apology.’

‘It was a mistake.’ Her voice was wheedling.

I raised a hand to my mottled cheek. The patterned web of scars that branched out, tightening the corner of my lips and creasing one eye almost shut. I felt the flames licking, the hoots of laughter as I dangled from their arms. My shoulders sagged under the weight of memory, my exhale thick with debris of the past.

‘Are you ready, Mummy?’

The voice soared through my despair and punctured it, her soft hand slipping into mine. I heard Britney’s reaction before I saw it. The sob escaping involuntarily as she looked between us.

‘Is she looking at our scars?’ I smiled through my tears into the imperfectly brilliant face that had undone me from the moment I saw her photo on the adoption notice.

All the practised speeches, the hurtled insults felt heavy on my tongue. My words were like shadows as we stepped around Britney’s crumpled, weeping frame.

‘I forgive you.’