Bloom | Flash Fiction

“Dude, stop whistling, you’ll get us busted.”

“You don’t like my whistling?”

“No. It sucks.”

“My mum says I whistle beautifully.”

“She’s lying. Here.” Sam glances quickly around them before handing Ryan a small brown envelope.

“This the stuff?”

“Duh.”

“What is it this time?”

“I dunno. A mix. Does it matter? Hurry up, we need to get back to school before they notice we’ve bunked off.”

“What’s this, then?” The boys’ stomachs flip at the sight of the police officer. “How old are you two?”

“Fifteen,” Ryan croaks.

Sam nudges him. “Eighteen, actually.”

“Big difference between fifteen and eighteen. Which is it?”

“I’m eighteen,” Sam says. “He must be fifteen, I guess. Dumb kid.”

The police officer raises her eyebrows. “Have you got any ID?

“Don’t carry it with me all the time.”

“That’s convenient. What’s in the envelope?”

Ryan whips the envelope behind his back. “Nothing. A letter. It’s nothing.”

“Hand it over and maybe I’ll sweet-talk the teachers into letting you off without a detention when I drive you back to school.”

“Don’t give it to her,” Sam hisses. “Don’t you dare.”

“But Mum’ll kill me if she finds out I’ve had another detention.”

The police officer reaches out and Ryan reluctantly hands her the package. Her brows knit as she peers inside. “Seeds?”

Sam glares at his feet. Ryan turns pink.

“What kind of seeds are they?”

“Wildflowers,” Sam mumbles.

“And what’s that? A new name for marijuana?”

“No! Actual wildflowers.”

The police officer almost laughs. “Like… regular old flowers? With petals and stuff?”

It’s Sam’s turn to grow pink.

“So, you’re bunking off school and loitering around outside a derelict warehouse to trade wildflower seeds?”

“We plant them,” Ryan mutters.

“Here?”

The boys nod.

“You know this is private property, right?”

“Yeah, but look at it,” Sam says. “It’s just a lump of dirt. It looks so ugly. There’s no colour round here, and it’s been that way for as long as I can remember. It’s depressing.”

The police officer scans the land, noting the glittery trails of smashed glass and the mounds of empty beer cans. “I get it, lads. But I can’t let you hang out here. It’s private property and that’s that.”

The boys deflate.

“Look, I’ll scatter these now and then I’ll drive you to school.”

“And you’ll sweet-talk the teachers?” Ryan says hopefully.

“Sure. You’re good kids.” She walks away and begins to sprinkle the seeds, picturing the land in springtime when the flowers will bloom and remind her of two boys who wanted nothing more than to brighten up the streets they called home.

“Can’t believe she fell for it,” mutters Sam.

Ryan guffaws. “I know. A copper’s actually helping us to grow weed. This is so cool!”


Stories that Sing

I write one new story each week inspired by a random song from my Spotify library. This week it was “Never Miss A Beat” by Kaiser Chiefs.


Merry Bloody Christmas: A Short Story Collection by Ellie ScottFollow Ellie Scott on WordPress.com

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Author: Ellie Scott

Ellie Scott is a freelance copywriter and fiction writer from Sheffield, UK. She writes speculative and silly short stories and flash fiction. In 2018 she was shortlisted for the Bridport Prize Short Story Competition and published her first book, 'Merry Bloody Christmas: A Short Story Collection'. You can often find her hanging out on Twitter (@itsemscott), Instagram (@tinysillystories) and Medium (@elliemaryscott), or hibernating on her sofa with a book and a very large glass of gin.

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