It was a mundane existence really – keeping everything so neat and tidy all the damn time. There was not even a speck of dust on the vents for heaven’s sake. And for what? I needed to grow a spine and just refuse to adhere to such fastidious rules. There were better ways to spend my time!
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spied it. A cheeky candy wrapper poking out from under the bed.
How on earth did that get there? I pondered.
I nudged the bed aside to retrieve the offending candy wrapper and that’s when I saw the partial fingerprint.
Tentatively, I picked it up and walked backwards, toward the edge of my cell.
Triumphantly I held aloft the prize, knowing there was only one person in D block with half a finger. Staring brazenly at the inmate opposite me, I said with a smile, “Looks like I’m not the only person in here lacking la gaudiere*, hey Stubs? Now I promise I won’t tell. But it will cost you the rest of that packet”…
By Sarah ©2017
Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #160. Words: mundane, neat, vent, spine, wrapper, la gaudiere, nudge (nudged), partial, tentative, backwards, oppose (opposite), smile
* La gaudiere (noun.) glint of goodness inside people, which you can only find by sloshing them back and forth in your mind until everything dark and gray and common falls away, leaving behind a constellation at the bottom of the pan—a rare element trapped in exposed bedrock, washed there by a storm somewhere upstream.