Rootle Tootle.


Thanks to Faber Academy for the special mention.  Here’s my flash fiction prompted by the picture above.

Pa told me he’d got instruction to collect the car. He does jobs for the bailiff, you see? Well it was no surprise.  That family were crazy.  They owed everyone something.  A quiet night for a start.  All the folk on the avenue were sick of those parties, most probably as they never got invited.

So when I hear the horn I think it’s Pa but it’s rootle-tootling like a bugle, and that ‘ain’t Pa’s style.  Mom and me go out to see.

Well!  It’s not my Pa. The whole Clayton family is crammed in that car.  Man! They put on a show!  Mrs C in the front with her glamour girl permanent wave like the Queen of Sheba.  Mr Clayton in some ritzy suit.  He winks at mom and she narrows her eyes at him.  A lot of ladies love Mr Clayton but mom said they were silly geese.

Then, revving the engine Mr Clayton says some very bad words – shouts them at no one in particular, and as they drive away the apple-faced kid’s flipping the bird out the back.

It wasn’t even their damn dog.  It turns out Clayton Jr stole it from the Mexican family by the gas station.

Sure is quieter without them on the avenue although it’s funny but mom started turning the wireless up after dinner.

Just says she likes the big band music now.


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