ext_8747 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
pollitt.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ds_flashfiction2003-04-26 01:41 am
pollitt.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2003-04-26 01:41 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
I've wanted to write a story for the flashfiction list for a few weeks now, but wouldn't you know that real life didn't exactly give me much free time. But then, last night, when I should've been asleep, I wrote this. Thank you to Linda for the title. 405 words.
The Penguin Isn't Sorry Either
By Pollitt
~~oo~~oo~~oo~~
Of all the tasks Benton Fraser had had to perform in his lifetime - and the number was *not* a small one, at last count, it was swiftly approaching the triple digits - the one he currently faced had to be one of the most difficult.
It's not as though he'd never made a mistake in his life, or had to apologize in an attempt at reconciliation (the latter most memorably could be illustrated in a simple tale involving nuclear waste, pirates, ghost ships and buddy breathing), but this particular attempt at 'making up', as Ray called it, was a unique one in part because Fraser could not find it within himself to feel sorry.
True, he did feel sorry the rather ingenious rookery of penguins that had been released by the smugglers he and Ray had been pursuing had devoured Mrs. Neville's prize-winning hothouse flowers. And he did carry a modicum of guilt over the, well, one could call it a spectacle; he had created by falling through the tent of the Neville's daughters' flower show and coming-out cotillion.
But if he hadn't have stumbled from the mess of the tent covered in red punch with slices of pineapple clinging to his uniform and the white frosting of Betty Sue's cake making his hair a sight, then Ray might not have started laughing while carrying a penguin. And if the bark of laughter and tremors from laughter hadn't have scared the bird, it may not have squirmed out of Ray's grasp, causing him to lose his balance. And if he hadn't have lost his balance, he wouldn't have grabbed Fraser's hand, pulling them both down to the ground in fits of laughter. And there might never have been a kiss that tasted of sugar and punch that was shared in front of sixty members of Chicago's richest family's who stood in their Sunday best, staring in shock. And if the kiss had never happened, then he and Ray would not have ended up at Ray's apartment, in the shower, washing the sweat, grime and food products off of his body and learning the touch and taste of each other's bodies in the process.
So, really and truly, Fraser was *not* sorry for the events that had taken place. In fact, he felt a thanks was in order. Flowers felt the most appropriate, and perhaps Mrs. Neville would share where she'd ordered that cake.
~~oo~~oo~~oo~~
By Pollitt
Of all the tasks Benton Fraser had had to perform in his lifetime - and the number was *not* a small one, at last count, it was swiftly approaching the triple digits - the one he currently faced had to be one of the most difficult.
It's not as though he'd never made a mistake in his life, or had to apologize in an attempt at reconciliation (the latter most memorably could be illustrated in a simple tale involving nuclear waste, pirates, ghost ships and buddy breathing), but this particular attempt at 'making up', as Ray called it, was a unique one in part because Fraser could not find it within himself to feel sorry.
True, he did feel sorry the rather ingenious rookery of penguins that had been released by the smugglers he and Ray had been pursuing had devoured Mrs. Neville's prize-winning hothouse flowers. And he did carry a modicum of guilt over the, well, one could call it a spectacle; he had created by falling through the tent of the Neville's daughters' flower show and coming-out cotillion.
But if he hadn't have stumbled from the mess of the tent covered in red punch with slices of pineapple clinging to his uniform and the white frosting of Betty Sue's cake making his hair a sight, then Ray might not have started laughing while carrying a penguin. And if the bark of laughter and tremors from laughter hadn't have scared the bird, it may not have squirmed out of Ray's grasp, causing him to lose his balance. And if he hadn't have lost his balance, he wouldn't have grabbed Fraser's hand, pulling them both down to the ground in fits of laughter. And there might never have been a kiss that tasted of sugar and punch that was shared in front of sixty members of Chicago's richest family's who stood in their Sunday best, staring in shock. And if the kiss had never happened, then he and Ray would not have ended up at Ray's apartment, in the shower, washing the sweat, grime and food products off of his body and learning the touch and taste of each other's bodies in the process.
So, really and truly, Fraser was *not* sorry for the events that had taken place. In fact, he felt a thanks was in order. Flowers felt the most appropriate, and perhaps Mrs. Neville would share where she'd ordered that cake.