Flash Fiction

It's a slow day here at Villa DiGregorio and due to boredom or old age words are hiding from me. Seeking inspiration, I started digging around my hard drive. 

Some time ago I entered a flash fiction contest. The rules were that the theme of the story be inspired by the supplied picture, and the story must consist of exactly 250 words, no more, no less. This proved to be much more difficult than I imagined, but it was fun. The picture was of a stormy sky with black, roiling clouds above a couple of telephone poles. 

I believe I posted this once a long, long time ago. My entry: 

    Far out. I was just talking to Rainbow and Moonbeam about the very idea--but after awhile I couldn't concentrate because Rainbow had a fly in her hair and Moonbeam was saying here use my hairbrush and brush it out, and Rainbow was all, hey I don't want to hurt it and Moonbeam was like, hey, it's a FLY, and Rainbow said well that's the trouble with you because you don't have strongly held BELIEFS like I do, and Moonbeam started crying and I was all SHUT U-UUUP!!!! and then because it was raining our VW bus slid off the side of the road and we drove sideways through the front window of a grocery store and knocked these Hostess cupcakes off their display and they were, like, everywhere, so we got out and ate a bunch of them before the cops came, and so that idea that the universe will take care of us, that was really heavy. We were just talking about that. 

    So the cop is sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee and half of this dried out doughnut and says hey, we still had our one phone call, which I made. It was dark now, and the weather had gotten worse, and I could barely hear the guy, who is shouting over the buzzing phone line, “What?? What??” 

    I say, “oh yeah, and some of those cinnamon dessert stick things.” I glance down at my jailer’s stale doughnut. “Better make that two orders.”