fff#82

this fff was weird for me; not because i unhappy with what i write but i unhappy with me in this challenge. i disappoint meself with plenty shite fffs before when i cyah seem to write anything i like and end up posting an fff i unhappy with but sharing still because tha's part of the exercise for me and i always learn something from making meself write+post it even when i doh think it good enough. las' fff i was unhappy with mine but know is because when tony dead, i fold up. this rounds i goodish[ish!] with what i write, but feel i didn't get far enough out my comfort zone to truly fulfill the challenge, in spite of every effort to. i start out saying i going crime fiction because i wanna be able do that well and only ever try once, but late monday night realise even though i like my idea and find it outside my usual story-type, the actual writing, the voice, wasn't; like my natural voice lend itself too easy to the different genre, so it still feel like the kinna ting i would write. and i wanted to challenge meself. so i mash brakes 1time to think on it. late tuesday i decide to switch to something further removed from what i's usually do, and go romance, and rather than try to force-fit what i had, start over from scratch; i mean, it eh like i eh accustom being late with my fff...except when i went to start over in the wee hours of wednesday, i like what i already had too much and find meself trying to write a romance-mystery instead. then, realise today my completely unromantic backside really delivering something more like very light erotica than romance, and thus still staying closer to my usual voice (not that i's be aiming for erotica; is all them diablesse i's be there with) than i wanted, but new trigger going up nex' day and i eh have time to retrain meself to successfully execute romance by then, so instead i just taking the trigger as a trigger to write...something. and i eh vex with it, just feeling like i eh truly fulfill the challenge even though i happyish[ish!] with wha' i write, and did stick to the basic rule of the relationship-as-focus, even though i break the happy ending one, a la romeo+juliet, because if shakespeare could do ting, then who's me?!
and i still re/learn valuable tings through this semi-failed fffing: freedom is nothing to lose; all villains just need a hug; and the phone never rings, the baby never cries, and the rent never overdue in romances. so, flash fiction friday #82; trigger: pick a genre [afrofuturism/detective/horror/romance/noir/scifi/fantasy/speculative/etc.] and/or conceptual/structural trope [hero-journey/zombie-or-other-apocalypse/coming-of-age/etc.] that isn't your usual m.o. and make it yours.

the smell was unreal. too many unwashed in too little space, layered on top the pelau+pie. she shallow she breathing and press on. no time nor place for discomfort, especially as that smell was testament to how much these services needed. she make she way past the kitchen to she office. bookkeeping time; them accounts wouldn’t make theyself up.
she pull out the ledger, appreciating the beauty of running the wash like this, not having to maintain two different set of books for the government and sheself. of course, the tradeoff was every youthman assuming she soft and a easy takedown. of course, them youths was always wrong like a marble. nobody who reach far enough to become district cleaner coulda ever be soft. plus by now, this whole community was she; you would hadda come real ninja to get to she, catching she intransit your only possible opportunity.
she pull she mind back to the task at hand. what play off earlyweek cost, and intake need to reflect that. she remove the dummy event glamourised creole catering and start working backwards through the numbers but find she mind keep running back, playing through a peculiar selection of memories like if it searching for something…
walking into her office for the 1st time, singleminded in she purpose, no idea what she was in for. derailed, completely, by honey’s honeyed tones and later, determination. she gone in there smart but green with she big ideas and make she offer expecting to get through on sheer dollar amount, and honey’s one condition take she for surprise.
“wait. i hadda wha’?”
“you don’t have to; i asking if you want to because i want you to…”
“or hor. then…nahhh…”
“…but if you want the building…”
she watch honey up+down, hard.
“eh heh…so, i hadda.”
“you don’t want to?”
she watch honey long+hard again.
“fine.”
it was at dinner later she finally accept she mighta be outta she depth. and that maybe that wasn’t no bad thing.
she drag she mind back to the book in front she face. and a moment later, honey snatch she back again.
that dinner. she never had nobody just focus on she before. that level of attention, engagement, desire…she had never know what it was to have a person just be interested in and into she, as a person. honey sit close, touch she hand, look she in she eye, feed she exotic mouthfuls from her very fingers, the novel experience of sushi merely backdrop to honey stirring she insides in unfamiliar ways she know wasn’t about raw fish and plum wine…honey hot little hand sliding between she thighs under the table, right there in the people restaurant, 1st time she ever jump so, 1st time of many she find sheself owner of a vocabulary of sounds only honey could elicit.
the books. she tear sheself from honey’s warmth and come back to the pages. which conjure more memories.
standing in their building for the 1st time, she so excited she slowly spinning in a circle, taking in everything again, head full of them big plans until honey on her knees in front of she unzipping and pulling down and pushing aside, demanding access to she hidden parts, thiefing she head all over again. after, she+honey laying on the counter, honey whispering, “if tha’s wha’ you going and do, lemme help you. start by expanding your clientele…once you could service them.”
honey helping she turn the unused kitchen into a large-scale operation where the community’s needy could eat, free. honey teaching she how to make up accounts to cover the washing and the free food sharing. honey’s neverending supply of rich white people looking for their fix, never knowing they contributing to keeping the community fed. honey, executor of she dreams…
that could all fall apart if she don’t handle this part. accounts.
but she have honey on she mind because something troubling she; something not right, and she never wrong. earlyweek, when the shit went down, why honey wasn’t shock like she? that was the maths to study right now. numbers on paper cyah block the picture of that face she love, sad but unsurprised, already ready to help she move forward from what was evidently old news to honey ears. she know what she have to do.
the heart she didn’t think she had until honey, shatter. she didn’t know that could happen neither. she take five to gather sheself then get up to gather the things she need. she eh want honey to go too hard, she not trying to hurt she love, just end it.
when honey reach and ask why she so quiet she hand her the glass of brown liquid, clink she own against it, and pull honey into she lap after their 1st sip, wanting to enjoy the last of this warmth. she hold onto honey tight enough she get questioned again, and answer by draining she glass and reaching for the bottle.
“drink up, babes.”
she pour them both again, knock back she own, put honey to sit on the desk and kneel between her thighs, pushing up her dress. she know their time short now and doh want the end to come before honey get to. love is love.
when honey was bawling she name from the top of the mountain she feel the edges of the paralysis creeping in in time to watch+see the euphoria become terror in honey eyes and she tell she love with she last breaths,
“couldn’t let you betray me again. and couldn’t stay without you, neither…”

walk good.