Flash Fiction First Friday is an effort to publish something small on the First Friday of every month. The goal is simply to write more and to share more, and not get completely bogged down in huge projects. These pieces can spawn from writing exercises, prompts, or just freewriting. The point is that they're low-commitment and just for fun.
I'd love to see your flash fictions pieces if you participate, too! Either use the tag #flashfictionfirstfriday or comment below with a link to your blog.
Writing Prompts:
1. Write a scene placing two characters in this fundamental conflict: one wants something that the other does not want to give. Let the conflict escalate. Who uses what tactics to get their way? Who wins
2. A slightly more complicated variation on the same theme: one has half of something that is no good without the other half; each wants the other's half. Do they connect or disconnect?
Janet Burroway, Writing Fiction, pg 151
Lock & Key
“Give it,” he said, grabbing for the woman’s hand, but she was already walking away. “Bring it back.” He followed the fluttering wool belt of her peacoat out of the alley.
“Hey!” he said, grabbing her shoulder when he caught up with her on the sidewalk. “I said give me that—”
She slapped him before he could finish. People on the sidewalk gave them a wide berth. “Maybe try talking to me like I’m a person, not a dog,” she said. “But also, no.” She pulled the collar of her coat up against the cold and turned away again.
“C’mon, Allie. Don’t you want to know what’s in here?” He was still holding the small gilt box. It was covered on all sides with engravings and a painted porcelain portrait adorned the top. Metal bands held a sturdy lock in place. It hadn’t left his hand since the lawyers had slid it across the table to him. Him, specifically.
“No. Probably a sweet love note from Mom for her darling Jeffery. Or a curse for me. I couldn’t care less.”
“Then give me the key!” he said, trying to keep up with her and dodge between pedestrians.
“No. It’s mine. I don’t intend to just give my one bit of inheritance to you, like everything else.” Allie clicked a button on her keys and climbed into a faded black car. “You can’t bully me into doing one more goddamned thing for you.”
“If it’s money, I’ll split it with you. I’m sure that’s what she wanted—” He was leaning on the passenger door.
She drove away anyways. She even tried to spin her tires and splash her brother with a cold puddle, but her little Yaris didn’t have a spiteful bolt in its body.
By the time she’d gotten up to speed, her hands had reached into the breast pocket of her coat of their own accord. A delicate brass key hung heavy and cold there, sandwiched between wool and silk. But what she’d been reaching for was the pack of cigarettes. Now was not the right time to quit.
-
Christmas came a few months later. The family begrudgingly came together, as they had always done, at the family house in the Old Town. The house was situated in the middle of its lot like it had attempted to put as much space between itself and its neighbors as possible. Allie arrived as late as she could, hoping to get lost in the crowd of unknown cousins and mysterious new wives.
Jeff found her anyways.
“We need to talk. Did you bring it?” he asked, before Allie had even made it through the foyer. The parquet floor was covered in a layer of gritty salt, tracked in on leather shoes.
“Leave me alone. I just came here for Aunt Jude’s Devils on Horseback. They never turn out right when I make them at home.”
Jeff rolled his eyes like a petulant child. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve talked with the lawyers. They’re drafting a letter right now to force you to give me the key. I have legal rights to the contents of this box. Don’t make me sue you.”
“But we had such fun last time,” said Allie. Her words were antagonistic and firm, but ice had settled in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t afford this song and dance again. She didn’t have the family’s legal team in her pocket like he did. The only things she had in her pocket were a pack of cigarettes, her lucky lighter, and the damned brass key.
“You can make it easy for both of us,” said Jeff, pulling her through the foyer by the wrist. They slipped into their father’s old study and closed the hum of dozens of conversations behind its stained-glass doors. “You obviously don’t care about the box. Just give me the key.”
The study was just as their father had left it—leather-bound books lined the walls and dappled light poured through tall windows, painting the floor in silhouettes of bare tree branches. In the center of the room was an austere, monolithic desk. Sat at the desk, was an austere, monolithic lawyer.
“Fine,” said Allie, feeling quite small. “But I want a guarantee—in writing—” she gestured at the lawyer, “that we’ll split whatever’s in there.”
Jeff sighed but gave his permission to the lawyer via a vague finger-wag.
-
The ink wasn’t even dry on their agreement before Jeff pulled the ornate box across the desk towards them. Allie fitted the delicate key into the lock. The click was so soft—it would have been easier to open the thing with a bobby pin than go through all this rigamarole. But she didn’t tell Jeff that.
The hinges were silent as Jeff opened the box, as if they’d been diligently oiled. The inside was shockingly empty. No pile of jewels, no stack of cash, no folded deed to the house. Inside was a single piece of cardstock.
Allie pulled the card out and held it to the light. It was a photo. Her and Jeff. He was a chubby toddler, she was a taller, lankier toddler, two years older. Jeff was sitting in Allie’s lap, and she was “reading” a book to him.
Jeff snorted. “I remember that book. Beastly Poetry. I don’t think you actually knew how to read; you’d just memorized all the poems.”
Allie almost smiled at the memory. Almost. Where was the message? Where was the letter? What was the meaning of all this?
But oh, wasn’t it obvious? Mother dearest couldn’t have been bothered to talk to Allie before she died, so she figured this cutesy little puzzle would smooth everything over?
“Mom left me the key just so we’d have to talk to each other? Did she think this photo was going to fix our relationship?”
Jeff was silent. They’d both been expecting… literally anything else. Finally, he opened his mouth again. “I’d… be open to, you know, reconnecting.” He was looking at the tips of his steepled fingers, not at her as he spoke.
“You think this has changed something between us?” Allie asked. She stood up so that for once, she was the one looming over him. “Do you honestly think this old grainy photo has changed anything about how you’ve treated me?”
“Has it?”
Allie could have screamed.
“No!” It had made everything worse. It had shoved it all in Allie’s face rather than allowing her to pretend her family didn’t exist, just as they’d always done with her.
Allie pulled her lighter from her pocket and flicked it open in a practiced movement. The photo curled and disappeared into char in the blink of an eye.
Gone. Done.
Jeff was staring at her with widened eyes, as if he might actually be capable of emotions.
“Don’t call me ever again.” She left the key, the box, and her brother behind. Her lighter was clenched in her fist like a grenade.
Copyright KR Holton, 2024
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