After finishing my two Flash! Friday pieces, I turned my focus to the latest Janet Reid contest. To celebrate one of the regular flash fiction writers securing representation, Janet came up with a contest, asking us to incorporate
agent
paradise
armada
amy
toast
in a story. Always in the rules is the priviso that we can "bury" one of the keywords. So, as Janet noted, "amy/infamy is ok but amy/army is not." I liked the idea of amy/infamy, and used that as my starting point.
She was born on December 7, so her
parents named her Infamy. For years she did her damnedest to live up
to that moniker.
Buttered toast will stick to the
ceiling, she learned by age 4.
Vinegar and baking soda were powerful
reagents, age 7.
On her 18th birthday, her parents
watched helpless as an armada of men sailed in and out of her
bedroom, each planting his flag in this New World they dubbed
"Paradise."
And yet, like the sailors of the
Pacific Fleet, the bombs which shattered the calm one Sunday morning
took them by complete surprise.
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