The Indie Exchange #FlashFiveFriday: Date

It's Friday Flash time again...

The prompt is...
Date

#FlashFiveFriday is a weekly flash fiction/flash blogging prompt run by The Indie Exchange.

The rules are very simple if you’d like to take part:

1) Write for no longer than five minutes;
2) No upper or lower word limits;
3) You must write something new;
4) You can prepare your post ahead of time but the 5 minute limit still applies; and
5) If you add your blog post to the weekly linky you must visit five other blogs that week too to show your support.

Click the link to read other people's flashies...

http://theindieexchange.com/flashfivefriday-9-date/     Why not give it a go?

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When I first read that the prompt was ‘late’, straight away I thought of the song from Alice in Wonderland. You know the one, "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date. No time to say hello, good-bye, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late." So that inspired my first Flash today.

Eric's date

He was late. He scurried out of the little green door, which clanged on its hinges. Opening the rusting, metal gate, he hurried down the eeling pathway, jumping over a slow-moving worm on the way.

“Thanks,” said Willy Wormer, breathing a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to meet the big old Worm Maker in the sky today.

“You're welcome,” mumbled Eric, rushing along the ground.

He’d forgotten his umbrella, which would never do. Eric glanced up at the sky, and sure enough it looked like rain and he was wearing his favourite waistcoat too. It was green with little blue buttons. How he hoped it wouldn’t get wet because then he just wouldn’t give the right impression.

Leaping a puddle, he jumped across the train tracks, one by one, careful to avoid the live rail. Since he was a wee one, his grandfather had lectured him daily on train safety. “Avoid the dastardly choo choo,” he’d wail at the end of every grand performance, which was often scarier than the prospect of a speeding train.

Across the field Eric ran, stopping now and then to greet a familiar spider, beetle or field mouse. After what seemed an eternity, he reached his destination, huffing and puffing. 

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to The Wandering Inn and breezed inside. Scanning the wooden tables and chairs, he sighed to himself and smiled. She was there. She’d come after all. The sweetest mouse in all the world was waiting for him, her white fur shining in the light.

Brushing down his waistcoat, Eric strode towards her, his little black eyes sparkling. “I’m so squeaky glad you decided to meet me,” he beamed.

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How time flies

Music plays softly in the background

A subtle tune fills the boredom

She glances up towards the clock

Tick-tock, it echoes against the wall

An old man sips his lager, cursing

As another waves his paper in the air

The 3.45 hadn’t been a dead cert

After all, and his piggy has run dry

Sara dips her finger in the wine

Runs a tip around the circular shape

It squeaks as though conversing;

How she aches for some chatter

Waiting, how she hates waiting

Why is he forever late?

Can’t he tell that she’s tiring

Of the same old, same old?

Yet she forgives him always

Just as she has these 30 years

Loving him always, no matter

That they spend more time apart

Of secret dates, secluded meets,

This pub aches with age-old stains

She sips the deep red wine

As he saunters through the door