Normally I start with my story first, but this week I thought I should start with a short explanation. Last week I wrote about Ingrid and her partner who goes out to dinner without her and then goes with a prostitute.
The cad! The rotter! Everyone wrote in the comments. And they were right – I created an absolute shit. But I wondered whether this week I could change readers’ mind about the man (Rex), to find out whether when they had more facts they could forgive him.
So, if you’re interested in my experiment you can read last week’s story here (if you haven’t already). And then read this week’s below. There are a lot of stories to read each week so if you don’t have time or can’t be bothered, then hopefully this week’s story should still stand alone.
Enough, on with the story:
When Ingrid’s vomiting had passed and Rex had left for dinner (best suit, aftershave – he would return smelling of sex and she was grateful), she used the pregnancy test. She knew the result before the small red cross knew itself.
In front of the hotel mirror Ingrid practiced: “Rex, I’m pregnant,” and “We both know it isn’t yours. I’m going to keep it. I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. Ingrid knew that whatever she said it would break him.
For the rest of the weekend, she waivered, until on the flight home Ingrid simply said “I’m having another man’s baby.”
For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture, supplied this week by Sean Fallon is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s amazing stories or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.
“Something I ate,” Ingrid said, resting her head on the toilet seat. “You go. We can’t come all this way and both of us sit in the hotel room for the weekend.” He kept his back to her; could never cope with sickness.
In the old quarter he asked for a street-side table for one, ordered a 2005 Vieux Château Certan, ate cassoulet, and drinking his coffee, watched the girls go by. When he had paid he chose a pretty one, older than Ingrid, who took him to an attic room.
On the flight home Ingrid told him she was pregnant.
Update: Quite rightly everyone hated the man in this story. So the week after I wrote it, I thought I would see if I could change readers’ minds about him, when they had more facts. Click here to read A Good Dinner Part II.
Apologies to Sandra for not only writing my first idea, but also writing about ladies of the night, but they both fitted so well this week.
For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture, supplied this week by Kent Bonham is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s amazing stories or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.
I thought I saw you today, going into 708 Fulton. You turned your head as you pushed the door open and the two hearts inside me leapt when I thought I caught a glimpse of ginger beard. Four lanes of traffic stopped to let me cross so I could hear you laugh again. The icy blast that followed me in, made the customers nearest the door glance up from their steaming coffee cups. Only the beardless man at the counter, an orange scarf still warming his neck, didn’t look at me standing there – expectant, yet already disappointed.
This piece of writing was inspired by the picture prompt provided by Jean L Hays for the Friday Fictioneers writing group run by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We all attempt to write 100 words (or so); finally this week I kept it to exactly 100.
I’d love to receive comments and constructive criticism. Click here to read other people’s stories inspired by this picture or to join in.