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…”