Australian Writers’ Centre Furious Fiction
December Furious Fiction? Already? Or from another point of view: “is it only December? When will this year be over? The year has simultaneously sped past and dragged on. Here is another instalment in Frankie’s story.
I had a story arc roughed out but as I was writing this story my “pantser” mind took over and created a plot twist. Pantser being a term used by writers to describe those who write the story “by the seat of their pants” compared to plotters, who plot things out carefully.
I wanted to finish it this month so the end of Frankie’s journey coincided with the end of the year.
Sigh…
This Month’s Prompts
This month the prompts for Furious Fiction were.
- The first sentence could only be three words
- You need to include the words rose, palm and match (or variants of like matched)
- You need to include a gift of some kind.
The Furious Fiction short story competition is serious fun and I recommend it to anyone who likes creative writing. Only 500 words with a prize of $A500. I’ve given up on writing for the prize, now I am just trying to write my story. I’m getting closer to the end!
This story runs on directly from last month so you might want to read that first.
The Stats
This month I submitted the story at 9:00 PM on Sunday. I spent about an hour on Friday afternoon, then 2 hours on Saturday morning and a rough polish on Sunday before submitting as I was out all weekend. 491 words
Thomas Ball takes a leak
“Who are they?”
“Dorchester and Williams,” Frankie said casually as he put down his beer.
O’Mallory nearly fell off his chair. “DORCHESTER and WILLIAMS? His voice rising in a whispering shout.
“Yes-sir-ree! Prime Minister Dorchester here in the rose lamé number and his Deputy Williams in the nice peacock blue chiffon,” Frankie said pointing to the photo.
“Shhh…!” O’Mallory looked around the bar while simultaneously trying to melt into the plastic palm tree propped against the wall.
“Classic ‘80s D&G. Really, it was a bit over the top for the occasion! It took me a bloody long time source those outfits and they wasted them on some small-time Party Conference. Bloody poseurs those two! No fucking class! ”
“Do you think they’ll still have them? Tucked away in their wardrobes?”
“Maybe, it’s a bit risky and there *was* the *Second Purge Amnesty*. It would have been safer to toss them then onto the big public fires and make a song and dance of their righteousness. It doesn’t matter, there are plenty more photos where that one came from. Either way, those bastards are gonna pay for those years I’ve lost, ” said Frankie stabbing the image with his finger, “Fucking hypocrites!”
O’Mallory’s face contorted with guilt as his part in Frankie’s incarceration flickered through his mind. Frankie took another deep, calm sip to drain the glass and as if reading O’Mallory’s mind he said,
“You were only doing your job, Guv’ner. But not these bastards! They came up with the whole crummy scheme!”
“That’s very gracious of you Frankie, I am sure not everyone I’ve sentenced would match your generosity. How much do we owe you for the evidence?”
“Nada! Think of it as a gift. Just do what you need to do to get these pompous gits out of the House.”
O’Mallory looked at his watch and put the photo back in his pocket. “I have to go, I’m meeting with the others. Listen to Question Time tomorrow. It should get interesting.
The men shook hands, “ Thanks Frankie, the Nation will thank you tomorrow.”
That whole exchange, the entire process of getting the evidence to topple a corrupt government had taken less than 10 minutes. It was then that O’Mallory realised that Tom Ball the journalist, and Frankie’s minder, hadn’t come back from the toilet. He’d been gone the whole transaction. Odd?
As he stepped from the un-palatial Mumbai Sapphire to the grubby street, the bright white lights of a garden of video cameras dazzled O’Mallory’s eyes,
“Justice O’Mallory,” the reporter barked as he thrust the microphone forward, “is it true that startling new photos *supposedly* compromising the position of our National Leader are in fact, photoshopped deep fakes?”
O’Mallory pushed through the pack of reporters. “No comment,” he shouted.
O’Mallory’s mind whirled. How did they even know about the photos? Was Ball a leak rather than just taking a leak? Had he played them for suckers?
Final episode next month! (maybe!)
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