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$100 Challenge of the Month XXIII
The last one was meant for our senior partners who are writing a film. It was buffered in the wrong queue. Apologies. In lieu of this, write a story about having to retract a post you made on social media while altered, be it whiskey or a sleeping aid. The whole world has seen it, and is shocked and appalled by it, and you don't even remember posting it. 500-word + 100-entry minimums. $100 purse to the most riveting entry. Outstanding entries will be shared with our publishing partners and spotlighted.

Rosemary is for remembrance

The phone bleeps, that horrible noise messenger makes is repeating constantly, I rub my eyes and crawl out of the mess my bed has become.

I don’t remember going to bed, my head hurts, the phone is ringing, who’d be ringing me? Everyone knows I don’t answer phones, it stops, then it starts again. I drag myself down to the kitchen, yes the phone is in the kitchen I don’t take it to bed, If MI5 tried to track me by my phone all they would discover is the whereabouts of my kitchen. I simply don’t like answering it. I pick it up and swipe ignor then notice there are 73 unanswered calls. Seventy three! Seventy three! bugger them, it’s my day off, they can deal with it themselves. I turn the phone off.

Operning the cupboard door I find myself staring a an empty rum bottle, alcohol and me don’t get on, and I don’t ever remember buying rum. But more importantly, far more importantly, it stands next to an empty Nescafé jar, I might not be friends with alcohol but caffeine and me have a very close relationship.

The landline starts to ring, I have a landline? Obviously I do but I have no idea where it is and the noise is hurting my head, I ignore it and head up to the bathroom.Washed and doused up on painkillers I head out to my local coffee shop, as I lock the front door I experienced a flash back of coming home with a bottle in my hand.

Lannie hands me the first coffee of the morning and gives me an odd look,

“checked your FB page this morning?”

“ no, my iPads fla, forgot to charge it overnight”

“well you should, there’s a few folk want to talk to you”

“what for“

Our local news hound spots me in the cafe, doubles back and bustles in

“Fran don’t you ever answer the phone?” he bellows across the room

“Is it true.? They say the Bishops on his way”

“what“ I say screwing my face up and shaking my head

“What you wrote, the beeb’s sending a crew down, give us a scoop this morning, I need the money.”

I remember a typing something , my blood runs cold.

I run up the hill back home, fumbling for my keys I remember a few more bits, no I didn’t, surely not. I plug my pad in an flash up the offending page

ah

my face is scarlet, tears are running down my face

I hear a vehicle outside, rush round, close all the blinds lock all windows and doors turn off all the lights and creep up to my little attic studio.

I sit down cross legged on the floor and reread the page, it’s too late to delet, it’s been copied and shared. I should never have written it it’s outrageous, defamitory and unbelievable. Unfortunately, every word is true. I think life is about to get very hard for a unassuming florist in a small market town.

suddenly I see the absurdity of it all and start to laugh, my world is about to fall to pieces round me and all I can do is laugh.

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