FURIOUS FICTION

At the beginning of last year, March 2019, I began entering stories into the Australian Writers’ Centre Furious Fiction competition.

It’s a fun little monthly challenge whereby you have 55 hours to write a 500 word story that could ultimately net you $500. The only caveat is that each month they provide you with a set of non-negotiable story prompts which much be utilised in your piece of prose. The prompts change every month, some more challenging than others, but the format remains the same otherwise.

The prompts this month were as follows:

• Your story must contain HUMOUR/COMEDY.
• Your story must include the following five words: DIZZY, EXOTIC, LUMPY, TINY, TWISTED.
• Your story must include a sandwich.

Comedic writing isn’t generally my forte, though it was fun to try something a little different. Fingers crossed I can at least make the long list for this one.

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“Are you going to finish that?”

I had literally just taken my first bite, the fruit still in my hand, centimetres from my face, an explosion of exotic flavour giving my taste buds the instant gratification they were hoping for.

It was one of my sister’s favourite bits, and I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of responding.

Until I did.

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” I replied, having swallowed that first delicious mouthful.

She offered a cheeky smile as her reply, in turn.

The other gag she was quite fond of was picking up any random piece of junk from whatever room she happened to be standing in, turning to the nearest person, and with complete seriousness asking:

“What did you want me to do with this?”

More often than not, it was our father who was the straight man in that scenario.

I took another bite, hoping to replicate the same sensation, only to be treated to a far more subdued experience the second time around. It was only a tiny disappointment, but a disappointment, nonetheless.

“What, am I just supposed to sit here all afternoon watching you suck on fruit,” my sister asked in that petulant way that little sisters do better than anyone else, “because that’s kind of twisted if you ask me!”

It was just like her to make things awkward when they didn’t need to be.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” I asked between bites, “I could make you a sandwich or something.”

In her defence, she was less sulky than normal, though that could change in an instant; her mood shifting between playful and brooding, so often she could make a carousel feel dizzy.

“Sure, let’s each have a sandwich,” she replied, more excitedly than I had expected.

I stood up and started towards the fridge, only to be intercepted by my suddenly motivated sibling.

“Actually,” she said, putting her own idiosyncratic inflection on what should have been a standard interruption, “You stay there, I’ll make us both sandwiches.”

Now I was legitimately curious, my loving sister has never offered to make me a meal before, she had to be up to something.

I sat down and finished my fruit. After five minutes she returned to the table with two plates, each supporting an admittedly appetising sandwich.

“What have we got here?” I asked.

“Old family recipe,” she replied cheekily, placing a plate in front of me.

“Is that so?”

I studied the snack, not too closely, as I didn’t want her to sense my scepticism, but close enough to see if there was anything amiss. It looked a little lumpy, compared to your average sandwich, but it seemed okay otherwise.

The smile on her face grew as I brought the food closer to my face. I had a strong suspicion about what was about to happen, but I didn’t mind, she had earned this one.

“Are you going to finish that?”