High In The Sky
By Neel Anil Panicker
There was nothing Rosie had seen or experienced before.
To begin with, the hotel room on the 21ist floor. The closest she ever had left earth were the few odd occasions when she had to climb up the rickety stairs that led to the third floor manager’s office to pass a message from her supervisor at the leather factory where she worked.
Then the room itself. Instead of the drab, curtain-less apology of a single room that she lived in, replete with its stained walls scraped of all cement and dirty gravel that stood for the floor and on which they slept_ she and her father and his new wife, the room that she was staring at, was for her the height of luxury. The exquisite wall to wall thick carpeting, the slow waft of sheer silk curtains that hung on Venetian style windows, the gentle waft of soft breeze emanating out of the soundless air conditioning that carried to all corners of the ultra cool room the heavenly aroma of a slew of custom candles that sat cosily beside a vase full of exotic flowers, spraying the entire room with a dash of gold. Oh! Even the original oil Michaelangelo that looked down from the wall just above the exquisitely ornate all teak master bed seemed so beatific.
“You love it? It’s Plato’s favourite scent, a happy marriage of fig and woody cassis. It’s known for its mental stirring qualities”.
So saying Oscar ushered her inside and shut the door firmly.
She looked at him quizzically, the soft lights from the conical table lamp highlighting his cheek bones and leaving an extra shine on his jet black hair. The smile that he wore on his face matched the image of a Greek God she had seen in a billboard some time back while on her way to work.
“He is a Casanova…rich to boot…will dump you, for sure, and fast”.
They meant well…Cathy and Joan and Mary…her friends. Always caring and worried about her.
She glanced at the feast laid out for her___ a sparkling red coloured wine bottle and alongside, an array of goodies. She spotted grapes, cakes, croissants, almonds, and biscuits__the kind she had seen but never savoured, in display trays that lined the frontages of upper class cake shops.
“Merlot, Italian, the best in the world. Shall we drink to that”.
His hands were caressing the neck of the bottle.
Rosie stepped forward and sank into his arms.
He barely heard her mutter to herself, “If I am going to be dumped, then it better be in style”.
FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017
I would like to give a hearty welcome to all flash fiction aficionados. Welcome to the new Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner Home Site.
Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner is a weekly writing challenge designed for both the flash fiction newbie and the more experienced writer. It is the desire of this challenge to allow writers the opportunity to clear the cobwebs from a more tedious and involved project. Becoming a part of a new and growing writer’s community might be just what the doctor ordered to rejuvenate your writing juices.
Your Photo Prompt for Week #01 – 2017
Written for the challenge posted by