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Post 1600. Tuesday September 12

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

He was renowned for his potted plants. Potty Pete the locals called him. He had hundreds of them all over his patio, in the garden and indoors.

His wife Flora didn’t share his passion for terra cotta. ‘More interested in them than me’ she used to say.

It was no secret that Flighty Flora had several flings with local men, but when she became pregnant by the Catholic priest Pete decided enough was enough. 'Pack your bags and go' he shouted. 'I'm going nowhere' she yelled.

That afternoon while he was at the garden centre looking at plants she went berserk, smashing every one of his precious pots and trampling on his beloved flowers. Then she suddenly disappeared.

A couple of days later, after Pete had disposed of the debris, a truck arrived with a consignment of new pots, sacks of compost and masses of new plants. A couple days more and his displays were back to their former glory. He sat and admired his handiwork. Just one job remained – to clean the blood from his chainsaw.


Word count 174

Thank you Priceless Joy for hosting and shivamt25 for the photo.