Furious Fiction - June 2022

Each story had to begin with a sentence containing exactly SIX words.

Each story had to include something being served.

Each story had to include the words STAGE, WIRE and LOG. (Longer variations were accepted as long as original spelling was retained.)

To whoeva is readin this letter,

Im sendin this to the house I grew up in, hopin whoever lives there now can do me a favour. I’ve been holed up lately if you know what I mean and been thinking about bad stuff I did. Then this sheila on the wireless was talkin about random acts of kindness and I thought if I could do sumthing good for someone then maybe that bloke up top might give me a break cos he sees I’m trying. Anyways I was wondring if you could do sumthing good for someone on my behalf and then maybe that person will do something good too. And it keeps going. See what I mean? Cheers, Rodney.

                                                            *

Constable Kate Giometti felt like a helpless observer as her fingers performed the ritual of logging into Facebook and bringing up the post that first appeared three days ago. She sucked in the car’s stagnant air as the image of her dog walker appeared. It was the typical ‘Check out my hotel room!’ selfie. Kate had to admit, the room was beautiful – the cream and sandy tones coordinating beautifully with her husband’s bum, which was accidentally (yet artfully) reflected in the bamboo-framed mirror.

A figure passed by outside the car. Kate locked her phone and slapped the back of her hand against her partner. He startled and unfolded his arms.

“We’ve got movement,” she whispered, pressing her face closer to the tinted windows.

                                                            *

Jacob ran his thumbs along the six $50 notes. ‘Pineapples,’ his aunty called them whenever she’d let him count the takings backstage at the comedy club. Now, he was finally earning money of his own and he was about to shove a good chunk of it into a stranger’s letterbox, some random with a run-down house. All because of a letter.

                                                            *

Kate’s phone pinged as she sat in the staff kitchen.

She read the text. Sorry haven’t been in touch. Flat out meeting with investors. Jet lag’s knocked me for six too. Miss you & Coco.

 Her stomach twisted. Would he try to take Coco? Surely if he gets the dog walker, she gets the dog.

Sergeant Phillips entered. “Heard you made an arrest today.”

 Kate nodded. “19 year old male. Was dropping cash at the hot house.” She stood up. “And get this. He claimed he was doing it to be nice. Like just dropping money off at a random house, to do something kind. I’ve heard it all now.”

No more Mrs Gullible.

“He won’t give us names,” she added. “Maybe a few nights in the clink will change his mind.”

                                                            *

Jacob shuddered as the door rolled shut behind him. He swallowed down the stench of aluminium and urine, unable to quite believe where he was.

A figure shuffled on the top bunk, and a man with twigs for arms rolled onto his side and looked down at him. “Greetings,” he said. “The name’s Rodney. What brings you here?”