Fickle Teenage Love

Meet me at midnight under the giant Hershey’s Kiss.

Rachel pressed her phone against her chest. This was it. As the bells rang, and the confetti flew, and the star atop the decommissioned water tower descended upon the town of roughly 1,000, Rachel would receive her first kiss. At 12:01, her year of love and happiness, conjured by the pressing together of lips with the boy of her dreams, would begin.

Rachel’s father leaned back and popped the tin lid on the bottle of sparkling cider. “Let’s stay in this year.”

“I agree. I’m tired of the waterworks,” her mother add. “That tower still leaks, and Rachel’s always crying because some boy didn’t meet her like he promised he would.”

Her father looked up. “Who is it this time?”

“Bryan.”

“That emo kid? Heavens no! You are staying in this house,” her mother commanded.

“God! You’re ruining my life!” Rachel screamed then stomped up the stairs, two at a time.

“And now the waterworks.” Her mother rolled her neck. “Open a bottle of wine, would ya, sweetie?”

word count: 175

—Nortina


photo-20151228061913907Written in response to this week’s photo prompt for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers–a weekly challenge where you write a story in 75-175 using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Also written for Days 28-29 of 31 Days of Holiday Hooligans.

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