300 words

The latest issue of O magazine had a tantalizing segment on books, of which I am a big fan. But there was also a snippet where writers were asked to write a short story -- super short, 300 words.

I felt up to the challenge, so I crafted the following piece of fiction for you, dear readers ... all 5 of you.

Alternatives

Tuna, chicken of the sea. One can for me, one can for Mister, the grey and fluffy tailed. Diet coke. Salad, in a bag, Strawberries.

The man in front of me glances back as I load my items on the conveyor, he flashes a smile. Or was that my imagination.

He reminds me of a man I might have married before mother came to live at my house. Dark hair, brown eyes and the slightest hint of a dimple.

Bisquick. Whole milk. Cottage cheese.

He glances back again. There, unmistakable, a smile. I push my glasses further onto the bridge of my nose. I smile back.

There’s a twitter behind me. Blonde. Long, sun-kissed legs. Blue eyes and the merest smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks.

She watches him as he pays the cashier. He turns back, leaves her with a wink. She flashes a smile full of white, straight teeth.

I finish loading my items on the belt. Coffee, colby cheese, box of wine, rat poisoning.

The cashier barely registers my presence. $94.20. Shit, I spent too much.

At the front door, I notice the shades are drawn tight. She must be having one of her spells again.

I walk down the hall into the kitchen. I hear her muttering before she yells out, “What took so long? I’m nearly starved!”

“Let me put these up, then I’ll bring your lunch.”

“Bring me a glass of wine first. My head is killing me.”

I pull the plastic stopper out of the box of wine, fill a glass. The rat poisoning sits innocuously on the counter.

I close my eyes and think about the man at the checkout. Alternatives to this life.

I walk down the hall with her wine, careful not to splash where Mister might accidentally taste it.