Coined
(Random
2-word prompt- change, queue)
Flower counted
the coins on his palm, shifting them around with his finger,
counting them over and over, despite the meagre value. He’d scrounged together just enough change to
get what he needed, what he wanted. Biscuits.
The
queue shuffled forward. He moved with
it.
It was
the Silver Jubilee and today, and today only, the little shop on the hill was
selling its famously delicious extra special coronation biscuits. Flower was determined to get one pack, though
he cared little for the monarchy; there was little in his life that brought him
joy and he felt entitled to a treat. The
shop itself was still several metres away, and the long line of people
stretched back from its doorway and all the way down the street. Flower had been here since 5am, and it had
been a long queue then. It was now 11am,
and even longer. But at least he’d
finally reached the shop’s window; he could see the queue snaking around the
aisles inside, exhausted people shedding their fatigue to reveal fresh excitement
beneath.
Flower yawned,
then checked again that he had enough money in his hand. Yep.
Someone
tutted behind him. “There’ll be nothing
left by the time we get there,” scowled the woman. She was obviously waiting for a response from
him, and when he didn’t reply, she nudged him with her purse and cleared her
throat. “They’ll be sold out soon.”
Flower
turned to look at the woman for the first time since she’d joined the queue;
he’d been tired and focused on what was ahead so hadn’t looked around when
she’d appeared shortly after him this morning.
She was tall and bulky.
Haughty. Her white blouse and pencil
skirt were neat and unadorned. Only a
single brooch added decoration to her plain, neat clothing.
“I
said: ‘they’ll be sold out,’” she repeated.
Her strained and frowning face was counterbalanced by a tight bun of
hair on her head, each pulling against one another.
“I’m
sure they won’t,” he said as he flashed her a curt smile. He returned to facing forward; he wasn’t in
the mood to engage with her complaints.
The
woman harrumphed.
The
queue inched along, then stopped.
“At
least we’re moving,” sighed the woman. “You’d
think they’d bring in extra staff to handle things on a day like today.”
Flower
ignored her.
“It’s
truly ridiculous.”
He
didn’t reply, but she continued complaining anyway, possessed by some strange
energy she’d lacked all morning. Perhaps
the proximity to their shared goal had inspired her, now that she could see
inside the store. Or maybe she was
lonely. Flower didn’t care. He let her buzz on, blocked out her voice,
while he checked the money on his palm once more.
He slid
the coins over the lines on his hand, shifting them over his life line, across
his heart line, then down the fate line, letting his money read his fortune. He counted as he circled them along his skin.
Something
bumped his shoulder. An aggressive
action that startled him into focus. It
was the woman’s purse again. She was
saying something about the queue, and as he turned to face her, the purse swung
at him again. The sudden jolt knocked
every coin, every scavenged penny, the last of his change, everything he had,
out of his hand and all over the paved ground.
It
clattered and clinked as Flower swore blue curses into the cold morning air.
“Serves
you right for not paying attention,” snooted the tall woman.
The
coins came to a rest in a pattern like splattered blood; most of the coins were
close together, but some had scattered outward.
Flower
glared at the woman.
“The
queue’s moved,” she said, as she looked down her nose at him. And it had, the queue had edge forward. There was a small gap in front between him
and the next person. “Move along.”
He
didn’t deign to offer her a response. He
didn’t even shuffle forward with the queue.
She could wait. Instead, he moved
slow as he crouched down to collect every single coin he’d dropped, she’d
caused him to drop. One by one. Slowly.
Oh, she could wait. The woman
tutted at every coin he placed in his palm; she was red faced and angry, arms
crossed, and glowering. Good. She deserved it.
It felt
like an age had passed before he’d collected every coin, every coin except one.
One
coin had fallen precariously out of reach.
Flower stretched for it, extending his arm as far he could.
But it
was no good.
The
woman scoffed.
Flower
had started the day with just enough money to buy one pack of the famously
delicious extra special coronation biscuits.
Now, he was one coin short. He
considered for a moment maybe abandoning the lone coin, sacrificing it for the
sake of appeasing the horrid woman behind him in the queue, and then somehow maybe
blagging his way into buying a pack of the biscuits while short on cash. Maybe he could offer to bring the rest
another day; the shop keeper knew who he was, where he lived. Maybe he would pay them back. Maybe.
Too
many maybes.
He
didn’t have any choice but to rescue the lost coin, but he couldn’t leave the
queue; the woman would take his place in an instant.
Flower
wasn’t the nimblest of people, nor was he the supplest. Flower was short and inflexible. He dropped from a crouch to his knees.
“What
are you doing?” The woman folded her
arms over her neat white blouse. “You’re
holding up the queue.”
Flower
placed his hands on the ground, then used them to walk his upper body across
the paving slabs, keeping his feet firmly planted in the queue. It wasn’t easy and it hurt. His palms grazed the rough ground, his weak
muscles strained under his own bodyweight, his spine ached, and his toes
cramped in his shoes as he stretched his body as far as he could.
“You
look a fool,” condescended his aggressor.
He knew she was staring at him, probably half the queue was, but he couldn’t
care, wouldn’t let himself care; these biscuits were worth his dignity, and he
needed all his change to get them.
With a
swift one-handed press-up, he grabbed the coin with his momentarily free hand.
Success!
Flower
fell over. His balance had been betrayed
by his meagre strength; he hadn’t been able to keep himself propped up on one
arm and seize his prey at the same time.
His body collapsed against the floor.
Ow.
He could
hear the woman laughing as he lay there.
It was a luxuriant cackle, filled with privilege and arrogance. And there he was, pathetically prostrate, poor
enough to scrabble along the dirty street to pinch every penny he could muster
together.
Flower wasn’t
going to let her win.
He
rolled onto his back, careful to keep his feet in the queue (which had moved forward
again, though the woman hadn’t noticed yet), then sat up.
She was
still laughing, a taller figure from this perspective, and he could see right
up her nostrils. Ew.
He scooted
across the floor on his bum and made his way back into his position. He stood, facing the woman. He waited until she’d stopped screeching, her
expression changing to a disappointed and disapproving gaze, and then poked his
tongue out at her before turning away and marching into place behind the next
person ahead of him.
Flower
grinned as she gasped in shock at his rudeness. He suppressed a giggle.
Her
imposing stature was soon right behind him again in the queue. She didn’t say anything. Neither did he. But he could feel the hot waves of antagonism
emanating from the tall woman, and he got the feeling she was waiting for any misstep,
any slight error, before she pounced on his frail little body and delivered an
onslaught of snooty insults and frivolous attacks on his character.
The queue moved.
Flower counted his coins again,
checked he definitely had the correct amount, and ignored the condescending
snort from over his shoulder.
The queue kept moving, and they
entered the shop, following the snaking line that slithered around the
aisles. It wouldn’t be long, and he’d
have his famously delicious extra special coronation biscuits. He gripped his money tight in his fist.
The woman had remained quiet and
seething. She should be excited about
the treats ahead, like Flower was, like everyone else in the queue was. Instead, she was wholly focused on her
internal drama about Flower and his mere presence seemed to incense her. He almost felt sorry for her.
The line shuffled along, getting
closer and closer.
The clock struck noon when Flower
finally made it to the counter.
“Yes?” said the young lady at the
till. She looked tired and exhausted.
“One pack of the coronation biscuits,
please,” said Flower. He handed over his
collection of scrounged coins. He
ignored the imposing woman behind him; she was standing just a little too close
and he could feel her looking down her nose and over his shoulder.
The server counted the
money. “You’re a little short,” she
said.
“What?” Flower knew his foe was grinning. “I… er…”
“Oh,” continued the lady, “hang
on, there was a penny hiding underneath this one.” She held up the coin with a smile. “You’re lucky on two counts.” She rung up the sale and retrieved a paper bag
from the shelf behind her. “You’ve got
the last pack of famously delicious extra special coronation biscuits.” The server handed them to Flower. “Thank you!
Enjoy!”
For a moment, his mouth hung open
in shock, and as the atmosphere thickened so thick you could cut it with a
knife, he felt a smirk creeping up at the edges of his lips and spreading up
his cheeks; he suspected his enemy’s lips were heading in the opposite
direction to his.
“Next please,” called the young
server.
Flower turned on the spot, poked
out his tongue once more at the haughty, tall woman, then flounced through the aisles
of the shop and out the door, ignoring the unfounded protestations buzzing from
behind him.
Flower was going to enjoy these
biscuits far more than he’d expected.
The
End.
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