Some November flash fiction for you
It’s cold, so cold. Plastic doesn’t float well, you see. Neither does brass: either kind. As a Yorkshire Steampunk, I know about brass. And I know it won’t save me, not now.
Crumpets and tea, crumpets and tea, she said. So where have your jolly japes brought you now? she asked. She mocked me, from her superior position on the pier. Even then, God help me, I thought how good she looked in top hat, goggles, and short-cut riding jodhpurs, and those boots, oh, those gorgeous boots, climbing up those wonderful legs, creeping up to her glorious thighs.
I was a fool for her. I’ve been a fool for her, ever since I first met her at her dad’s DIY stall on Donny market, where I went looking for parts for costumes. Even now, with the full moon shining on the bay, brighter than gold on a fob watch, I thought to myself, how did I, George Perkins – accountant by weekday, Steampunk by night and long weekend – manage to captivate such a beautiful girl?
The accountant in me answers: tot it up, George. Look at the ledgers. Her beauty – in the black. My savings – in the red.
The tide is against me, now. She is smiling. The last thing I hear, as I swallow my final draught of the North Sea, is the click, click, click of those fabulous, murderous boots.
You can also come to Doncaster Brewery & Tap and hear myself and other writers read at “Well Spoken!” on Thurs 12th November, or “A Thanksgiving Read” on Thurs 26th November. “A Thanksgiving Read” will feature Steampunk author Craig Hallam.