Lucy

Had to write a piece of flash fiction in class. Anything we wanted. This is what came out. An old woman living a lonely life.

There was a honk! People yelling. More honking. More yelling. Sitting in my chair, I couldn’t enjoy my afternoon tea quite the same with all the racket. Stupid council had decided the holiday week was a good week to begin digging up old Grey street, a street that they had touched since it was first laid down over twenty-five-years-ago. The street had holes everywhere, and was bouncy as all hell, but it was old Grey Street and no one really mined how it was, except maybe the younger folk. The whole street had been closed so the traffic had been forced to take detours and that meant my street, Sweet Pea Avenue. A long and quiet street that I had lived on for nearly sixty-years. I had moved into the home when I was twenty-two, I had just married my late husband and the house had been perfect for starting a family. Everything changed though didn’t it, and for the past two days I have had to listen to angry commuters get through the tight streets. The fact that there hadn’t been any accident was purely a miracle the way people drove their cars, my cat Lucy was fond of sitting by the road watching people walk by but she hasn’t been in her spot the past two days.

Taking a sip of my tea another honk sounded. This honk was different though, it was followed by a screech, a scream and a crash. I placed my tea down on the table and pulled myself from the chair. I grab my stick and moved quickly to the front door.

A car had ploughed right up my cars back. My car had been pushed from in front of my house, onto my neighbour’s front lawn and the man responsible was climbing out from behind the wheel. “What have you done?” I screamed from my porch.

The man leant against his car, phone in his hand. He was ringing somebody.

“What have you done?” I stepped of my porch and moved towards the man. He continued to ignore my cries, too busy listening to whoever he was on the phone with. I moved past him to view up close the damage of my car. “What have you done?” This time is was barely above a whisper.

I wasn’t that much of a car person, I didn't know a Ford from a Holden, but the car had belong to my grandfather, who had given it to my father who had rebuilt it and then given it to me, his only daughter. Now it was ruined.

I placed my hand gently on the roof and sighed. The man was off the phone now.

“Your car?” he said.

“Yes that’s my car!”

“Ahh, sorry.”

“Sorry?!”

The man scratched his head.

“You better have insurance, because I am not paying for this!”

“I think I do,” he said.

Anger was bubbling out of me like a pot of water left on the stove. I would make sure that he would be paying every last cent to fix this car. I turned away from the man and marched back up my drive way. A loud meow startled me. Lucy was sitting beside the letter box in the garden. I picked her up and she nuzzled my face gently.

At least I had something left. Lucy. My kids had grown up and moved out. My husband had died. Now my father’s car was ruined. Lucy is all I got.

Author's Note

I think it can be improved.