Resistance is Futile

A piece of flash fiction written in a workshop

“Come on, kids,” Allan said, his bum leg dragging behind him as he moved for the checkout line.  We all looked at each other, sizing up exactly how much loot we could get out of this place.  Of course, it’s not exactly like a souvenir shop in Los Cerrillos New Mexico is overflowing with loot but it takes only price tags and dollar signs to get something out of anything. 

 

We grabbed some old-fashioned candy, a Mexican board game, four novelty travel mugs, a package of insult stickers, and an “antique and historically informative” barber’s kit circa 1800.  Or 1900.  Why should we care?  We artfully piled the stuff on the counter in front of the cashier, using the well-divined craft of covering up exactly how much is being bought until it’s too late and the dread items are already purchased and owned.  Unfortunately, Allan wasn’t to be fooled (he never is). 

“I said one item.  One.  Only one.”  We shrugged, removing the novelty travel mugs.  He folded his arms emphatically and off came the board game and stickers.  He stared at us.  We stared at him.  The old lady at the cashier sighed and glanced down at her watch.  Allan didn’t actually say anything, simply turning around and getting out the plastic.

“Your mother is going to kill me,” he muttered threateningly.  The way he said “your mother” was distinctly similar to how other people refer to “the neighbor’s cat”: not his problem anymore but still annoying.

 

Like that mattered to us.  We got what we actually wanted: candy and the tools to give Mom (or Allan, depending on who won the fight to keep us overnight) an extremely interesting hair day tomorrow.  Good enough.

Author's Note

I do not generally write this short of short stories but I took a whack at it during a flash fiction workshop. This is also my first attempt at writing in first person plural. Any tips you could give on anything would be welcome.

Reviews

[Allusyen]

The only thing I can say (other than how how lovely and quaint and refreshing this is), is that the language in places is very advanced, especially from someone being referred to as a kid - "well-divined" for example.
I do absolutely love how its Allan, and not dad - it makes a nice distinction and keeps the distance between your narrator and him.
It's great to see you back here again.