Red Roses

Sarah's leading a wild life. She's finally found the right man.

Sarah kicked the door shut with the back of her foot, tossed her keys and handbag on the table by the door and made a bee line for the kitchen. She opened the fridge and, arms akimbo, contemplated its contents. She jumped as something brushed her leg.

“Jesus, Snowy! Can’t you meow like all the other cats? Don’t you sneak up on me like that, you silly girl.”

The white Persian cat looked up with round eyes and emitted a soft meow.

“Yeah, right. A bit late don’t you think?”

Sarah scooped up the cat with one hand and took a bottle of white wine from the fridge. She poured a hefty measure in a wine glass and, Glass in hand, she went to the living room, kicking off her shoes on the way.

Sarah sat on her recliner, put Snowy on her lap, took a long swallow and deposited her glass on the low coffee table by her side. She leant her head on the headrest and closed her eyes. She absent-mindedly stroked the cat, which purred contentedly.

“Why’s my life in shambles, Snowy?” she asked the feline.

Snowy turned to Sarah, blinked once then closed her eyes as if to say there she goes again!

“Why do I seem to attract the wrong guys? I’m not a bad sort, am I? All I want is a kind soul, someone to lean on, someone to hold my hand and love me for what I am, not for my physical attributes.”

The purring increased in volume as if to drown out the woman’s voice.

Truth is, Sarah was what you’d call a looker. With her flamboyant ginger hair, freckles, upturned nose and her twinkling blue eyes, she could never pass unnoticed wherever she went.

“Could Willy be the one, Snowy? Of course I’ve only known him for a week, but he’s never tried any monkey business. He’s always been so sweet, caring and.. and.. well, I like him. Unlike that b*****d. I don’t even remember his name.”

She shuddered inwardly. Images of that terrible night came unbidden. She’d had one over the eight. He’d made eye contact, smiled and she’d crumbled. He was good looking. That much she remembered. He’d taken her outside, behind a dumpster, in a dark alley and…. She shook her head. How could she fall so low? And then she’d driven home, completely wasted. It’s a wonder she hadn’t killed anybody or herself. It was a good thing that a cop stopped her. She saw the flashing red and blue lights of the police car and pulled over. That part she remembered quite well.

The cop, a young man no older than 22 or 23, swaggered towards her car, hand on his holstered gun and, like the cops in American movies, said:

“keep your hands where I can see them.” (I’ve always wanted to used this line in a story)

“Good evening Oshifer,” slurred Sarah.

“License and registration please, Ma’m.”

“Sure. Here. Washa problem?”

“Step out of the vehicle, please, Ma’m and wait right there.”

The young cop went back to his car and returned with a breathalyzer.

“Here. Blow in here, please.”

“Do I really have to?”

“I’m afraid so, Ma’m. Smells like you’ve been drinking.”

“Oh, jush a glash o’ wine white with a friend. But if you inshisht, here.”

The policeman looked at the apparatus and whistled.

“Looks like you’ve had a stiff one tonight, Ma’m.”

“Oh! Does that show as well?”

The doorbell mercifully pulled her out of her reverie. 

Puzzled, she went to open the door thinking it was certainly Sandra come for a drink and a chinwag. Sarah looked through the peephole and her heartbeat accelerated. There, on the stoop, was Willy, her new beau. He clearly had an embarrassed smile on his face and appeared to be fidgeting. She opened the door with a smile of her own.

“Good evening Sarah,” he said, “I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

“Uh.. no.. uh.. not at all. I’m glad you came. Please come in.”

Like a conjuror, Willy brought out a bunch of red roses from behind his back and offered them to Sarah who couldn’t believe her eyes. Did people still offer roses? How romantic! She turned around and sprinted towards her bedroom, calling out:

“Please come here, Willy!”

Slightly intrigued, Willy followed her into the bedroom and found her stark naked (that was quick!) with her arms and legs spread wide open.

Willy’s mouth sagged.

“This is for the roses, Willy,” she declared in a sultry voice.

“Don’t be silly,” replied the stud, “surely you can find a vase somewhere.” 

Reviews

[Nusquam Esse]

Unfortunate situation with this here lass; one which affects a lot of women, although 'hopefully' not quite so extravagant. Now, I could go on and on about the paradox behind Sarah's actions... or I could stick to the humour you so pride yourself in. :P I am left wondering, is it sheer coincidence that 'willie' might be the one who loves her for who she is on 'the inside'? All things considered, I am thinking this name to be an unfortunate situation unto itself. For me, I got a real kick from the line about 'stiff ones', I wonder if the officer caught what she said? As for the 'case of the missing vase', I hope those roses at least had their thorns removed. Otherwise, our dear Sarah will regret this one more than a night behind dumpsters. After that it will be another night sipping wine while stroking her white p***y.... is she a gilf by chance?

[Woody]

Gosh, thank you for an interesting and hilarious review, Nusqua :)
I guess I had an ulterior motive when I chose the guy's name. as for Sarah, she does come out as an old hag (gilf haha) but I assure you that's not how I made her. she's just a girl who couldn't get her s**t together. just waiting for a lucky break.
the thorns and the white p***y.. priceless!!!
I hope you're back for good, now. you've been missed.

[Nusquam Esse]

What can I say, Persians are renown for their rugs... ;)

[Woody]

hahaha this one I'd never heard before. I had to look it up :)))

[Troy Henson]

Excellent Woody. Enjoyed this one. Some truth anf humour all mixed in together. Love how a little liquid courage can be the influence to brash situations. I must say that when i deliver red roses to my sweet lady next i will have certain painted image in my head hahaha

[Woody]

LOL have a vase ready to avoid any misunderstanding. thanks a bunch Troy. you've spoilt me tonight. I'll go dig up some of your old ones :)

[Gee]

Lol,you are definitely tarred with the daft brush.Keep 'em coming Woody

[Woody]

last time someone called me tarred, I punched her in the nose. but this time I'll take it as a compliment :) thanks a million Gee. always a pleasure to know you like my stories.

[Archos]

Beautifully written and hilarious story!

[Woody]

thanks a lot Archos. I'm thrilled you find it funny :)

[~]

kkkkkk this was stark funny :D
definitely people need to learn to put things in their proper place, didn't we all learn this in kindergarten? :D

[Woody]

thanks a bunch moonakittles :) glad this made you laugh.
some people are like that, unfortunately. my wife is all the time asking me to look for things she has misplaced. I'm glad the things I use at night are attached to her :)

[Gee]

Lol...............

[MsJewel]

While Sarah is a sad character, you have written her story with the wit and the creativity that is "you". You are so talented!

:) Julie

[Woody]

thank you so much Julie. I'm really flattered. I lack your legendary soft touch in poetry so I try to make up in storytelling :)

[Moonie]

The stud??? Willy?? This Willy??? Really?
Is it only me or was Sarah actually an eighty year old spinster??? My friend told me about this twitter id called "Fifty shades of Gran" and that has really given me a new point of view on stuff.. Sarah does fit the picture, with the cat and the never ending nagging and of course the alcohol and the inability of proper speech(probably forgot her dentures with the handsome bar guy)...plus Willy sounds like a naive eight year old....and my imagination is gross, I know...

[Woody]

well I admit she does come out as an old hag but I assure you that when I made her I had a beautiful ginger in mind who simply couldn't find the right guy to make an honest woman out of her. as for the stud. well I got tired repeating his name so stud seemed to fit :))
still, that's an interesting take on the story. she's too old and degraded, he's too young and naive. actually, I kinda like Willy. he reminds me of my younger self. of course I've changed a lot.

[Moonie]

I liked the handsome cop though...I imagined him with Morgan Freeman's deep and soulful voice...
read moreI liked the handsome cop though...I imagined him with Morgan Freeman's deep and soulful voice...

And did you make his name sound like Woody deliberately to indicate the connection, or did it just happen?

[wordman]

dam woody did you write this about me lol

[Woody]

absolutely not :) well if you must know, this was an autobiographical story.
glad it made you laugh wordman.

[g d chalupsky]

There's a sadness behind the humour in your story.

Sarah comes across as lacking in self esteem and prone to self destructive behaviour. She drinks and f***s. She drinks and drives. She drinks and fouls her chance for an "unshambled" life.

Sarah laments the lack of a love who can see her for more than her sexuality, yet it's her self as a physical being that she puts out (pun) to gain approval.

When the man leads her behind the dumpster, she follows.

When Willie arrives with flowers in hand, rather than seeing him for the man she imagines he might be, as "the one" who could love her for her inner being, she offers up her sex in the most raw way.

It's hard to see her life taking the course she desires, when she can't see, doesn't value, her own inner beauty.

I love flash fiction and I think your story is a good example of how much meat can be baked into a little pot-pie.

[Woody]

thank you very much g d, for a thoughtful review. your analysis is spot on.
could this be called black humour? most of my writes are primarily meant to entertain the reader and bring a smile. I hope you saw the funny side of this one.

[g d chalupsky]

Hrmm... lightly black, more blue. A bruised story? Certainly her ego has taken a beating from someone in her past.

Sure, I do see the humor (Euro-centric auto correct! I am an American, damn it! It's HUMOR, not humour), but I have known too many people that have written the same role for themselves, to not recognise the pain behind the pleasure.