This week I’m back to using 15 random prompt words for my Flash Fiction Friday story scene. I got one word (patriarchy) from the comments of last week’s post, and 14 words (level – clean – wait – crime – apparel – rock – testy – agreeable – unhealthy – hang – channel – back – rely – island) from a random word generator (got them in three batches, otherwise they’re blocked by ads—screenshots below).
I should get bonus points this week for getting the word “island” and not using it for a scene from ’Til Death Do Us Part. 😇
“Oh, please. Don’t even try to tell me patriarchy isn’t alive and well.” Nash’s head snapped up as Angela’s voice carried over to where he and Emmitt were arranging a tray of fruit and vegetables to offer their company. “Did you read that idiotic letter to the editor some fool politician in Utah wrote?”
“No need to get testy with me.” Harley put his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say it wasn’t still a concern, only that my company doesn’t discriminate or pay women less. I run a clean business.”
“Misogyny should be a crime,” Angela grumbled. “And don’t get me started on the sexism rampant in children’s apparel, either.”
“Lock ’em all up,” Harley prodded. “Send ’em all to ‘The Rock.’ Lower level, in solitary.”
Angela’s eyes narrowed. “I can always rely on you to stir in a little hyperbole.”
“I don’t suppose,” Emmitt whispered, “that it would be a good idea to inform her the Utah guy resigned two days later due to the backlash, would it?”
“Go ahead,” Nash snickered. “I’ll hang back here and wait while you go over and point that out.”
Emmitt chuckled and picked up the tray. “Not on your life.”
Nash grabbed a bag of chips out of the pantry since Harley had requested “something unhealthy” to go along with the nutritious stuff he’d known Emmitt would select.
“Or better yet,” Harley said, “ship the offenders off to that little island where Nash’s—”
“How about we change the channel,” Angela’s husband, interjected, “to something more agreeable than the news?”
“Good plan.” Harley’s fiancé, Oliver, picked up the remote and switched to a music channel. “Get us in the right frame of mind before we head out to Winterfest.”
Nash sat next to Emmitt on a sofa, and snuggled up under his husband’s arm with a spontaneous smile on his lips.
Harley raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Honeymoon’s still not over?”
Emmitt’s body shook with restrained laughter. Nash said, “Never. Is yours?”
“We’re not even married yet!”
“But you live together.”
“Not for that long. Not alone, anyway.” Harley waggled his eyebrows at Oliver, then pointed his finger at Nash. “It’s only been a few months since you moved out.”
Nash shuddered. “That was a fateful day.” The injury he’d sustained during the drive to move the last of his belongings to Emmitt’s condo had affected his life in so many bizarre ways.
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Harley declared. “It’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Nash wouldn’t have accepted that statement while enduring the pain and confusion of his recovery, but as Emmitt’s arm tightened around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug, that familiar warmth spread through his chest, and he knew Harley was right.
Leave a prompt word in the comments, below, and I’ll use it in next week’s Flash Fiction Friday post. One word per commenter, please, up to 15 total.
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