Flash Friday #65 'Chippy chances'
Original flash fiction: Some chances come in the most ordinary places...
Welcome to ‘Flash Friday’ where every week I share some of my original flash fiction.
This week’s story was inspired by the writing prompt: ‘Sirens blared, warning of the approaching train…’
Several years ago, I used to live near a railway line which had a level crossing in the centre of the village. I remember well the regular hold-ups caused by waiting for the trains to pass through, and it was this image which the prompt above called to mind. From there I imagined a woman who had been running to get across in time, but who was stopped by the barriers coming down; from there the story flowed very easily.
I hope you enjoy reading this one, and please leave a ‘like’ or a comment below if you’d like to share your thoughts - I’d love to hear what you think.
Sirens blared, warning of the approaching train, as the barriers lowered blocking her route across the level crossing. Stumbling to a halt, Zara bent over to catch her breath. It had been stupid to try and beat the lights, but after the day she’d had she was just desperate to get home and slam the door behind her. Everything which might go wrong, had, and she was considering very seriously handing in her notice, despite not having another job to go to.
It had only ever meant to be temporary to pay the bills until something more suitable came along (and it was better than spending months on the dole), but as often happened the temporary had become the permanent. Now, five years had passed since she first donned the uniform, and every day she felt the chronic dissatisfaction of knowing that her skills and strengths were not being utilised or challenged. It was getting steadily harder to summon up the energy to get out of bed in the mornings. Her life was wasting away and it was time to do something about it, if only she could think what; the jobs market was notoriously rubbish since the financial crash. The only thing which made things bearable were the few friends she had made amongst her colleagues, their bond forged through their shared experiences and mutual dislike of the management.
As she leant against the heavy barrier, with no sign yet of the expected train, Zara jumped as her phone began to ring, buzzing in her pocket against her leg. Checking the caller ID, her stomach flipped and she swiped hurriedly across the screen to cancel the call: the last person she wanted to talk to right then was her boss. He was probably only after her to work some extra overtime but she just couldn’t face it. If she had to smile sweetly at one more smug, self-satisfied customer, and deal with their sarky comments over how she ‘wasn’t bagging it correctly’ she might actually lose her mind. Let someone else cover it for once, she was due a break.
Finally, the train went through and the barriers raised, opening up her route home once more. Jogging across the tracks, and crossing the road which led to the station car park, she flirted with the idea of stopping by the chippy to buy a fish tea. She fumbled with her purse to see how much cash she had, knowing that any card payment was likely to be declined since she’d exceeded her overdraft and it was still three days before payday. £4.28. Just enough for a fish cake and a small portion of chips. Screw the diet, she needed something deep-fried.
In the chip shop queue, just as she was scrolling through her feed and pointedly ignoring the new voicemail notification, Zara felt a tap on her shoulder as someone cleared their throat behind her. Annoyed at the interruption, she turned ready to tell them where to go, then stopped dead in surprise.
“Hello stranger,” the familiar voice said, a slight smirk on the handsome face.
“What the hell, James?” Zara replied, leaning in for a peck on the cheek, “I haven’t seen you for weeks, where’ve you been?”
“Just travelling,” he answered, “Been exploring Mexico and then Peru with Tim, you remember Tim? We got back a couple of weeks ago. I’ve just got off the train and saw you waiting at the level crossing as we went through just now.”
“Mexico and Peru? It’s all right for some.” She couldn’t keep the jealousy out of her voice, “The last time I was on a plane was about six years ago, and that was only an hour up to Scotland.”
The conversation faltered slightly as Zara reached the front of the queue and placed her order, paying for it with her pile of coppers and ten and twenty pence coins, feeling acutely embarrassed knowing James was observing the whole transaction. When it came to his time to pay for his cone of chips, he just tapped his shiny iPhone against the reader.
As they stood against the blue tiled wall, waiting for their food, James spoke once more:
“So, Zar’… I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a new job? My firm are taking on a couple of new project assistants and it’d be right up your street.”
Astonished, Zara just looked at him, wondering at first if he were pulling her leg, but when she saw he was serious, she almost yelled,
“Of course! Send me the details!”
Laughing at her enthusiasm, he tempered her delight by warning,
“There’s a six month probation period, and the coffee shop next door sucks, but you could finally put your degree to use…?”
In answer, Zara hugged him causing a slight blush to rise on his freckled skin,
“You don’t know how much I needed some good news today, Jimmy, I’ll make that application the best I’ve every submitted.”
“Fishcake and chips!” The chip shop server called.
The sharp smell of vinegar filled her nostrils as she collected her humble feast, and her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“I’ll call you later!” James promised as she headed out with a wave, clutching her warm paper package and feeling optimistic for the first time in months.
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