Wrote some more flash. This one is just under 400, less than 3 minutes.
No image again – I wrote this just last night, spawned from a chat with Bridgette yesterday. Image below (Pexels) seems appropriate.
“Declan? That you?”
My flatmate disturbs me as I’m waiting for the kettle to boil.
“Jesus! It’s not like you to be up this early! And did I just hear the front door go?”
“That was me, Pete. I just had the wildest night.”
“So, the door was you?”
I nod. “Aw, man. You know I was talking to that girl in the bar last night? Well, at the end of the night, she invited me back to her place, and…”
He interrupts. “You mean you scored? You randy old goat, you! And you’re just getting in now?”
I glance up. The kitchen clock still only says 7:15.
“… and I’m just getting in.” I pause for effect, smiling. “I think I just had the best night of my life. But, man, I’m tired as… I just want to make this drink, then I need some shuteye.” It’s Saturday, fortunately. No plans today.
“Whoa, whoa, buddy! Not so fast! You can’t tell me you’ve just had the best shag ever, then wander off! Come on, Declan. Spill the beans!”
“What do you want to know? Okay, her name was Amy. She…”
“And are you going to see her again?”
“We swapped numbers. Reckon I’ll call her next week. Reckon I’ll need a few days to recover, anyhow! But right now…”, the kettle has boiled… “I need to get some sleep.”
“Alright, dude. But I want a blow-by-blow account… literally [grinning]… when you get up.” He allows me to part, and I creep into my bedroom for some well-earned rest.
*
It must be a decent time later. Mid-morning? I’m pleasantly dozing.
I hear the doorbell, but also hear Pete bounding down the stairs. I relax.
Talking.
A minute later, there is a rap on my bedroom door. It’s Pete.
“Declan? You awake?”
“Man, I’m sleeping. What is it?”
“Some guys at the door. Official. Saying they’re police.” Suddenly I’m wide awake. What the fuck do the rozzers want?
Seconds later, there is a knock. Without allowing time to respond, my door opens. A man’s head appears.
“Declan Murphy?” I nod. He continues. “Declan Murphy, I’m Detective Constable Simon Whitehead, of Oxford CID. An allegation has been made against you, and I’m arresting you on suspicion of rape. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence…”
Mister Bump 
Wow, that was so powerful. Amazing writing
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Thanks, Deb
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Holy crap! Best night of his life, eh? What a nightmare! Excellent writing.
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It’s weird…goes completely out of our heads when sex is on offer… but it must happen.
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Chilling. Reckon that to be a realistic fear for any dude apt to explore territory too quickly. Well-written, sir, well-written.
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Thanks, and… yes! You tend to put it out of your mind but it could happen.
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Oh! This is serious. Well written Pete.
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Yes I wanted to save the seriousness to the very last line, to lull the reader into a false sense of security.
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Well done
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The best night of his life, the worst night of hers.
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Possibly. Could be either atm. Maybe his every word is a lie, maybe she has lied. Makes us realise how lucky we are, no?
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damn. well done. did not see that coming.
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thanks, buddy. I did my best to conceal it.
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I can absolutely see how this could be a guys worst nightmare-thinking he met the girl of his dreams but then realizing she either wasn’t fully in her right mind (drugs and/or alcohol), or she lied for various reasons (maybe husband found out, getting back at him for another friend, wants attention). It’s absolutely always important to take these allegations seriously, but I can see how as a man, that would be a fear. Well, done.
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Once the seed was sown, it was an easy write. Thanks.
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