Point of View

Two random prompts, ten minute impromptu writing segments, switching between characters. Lightly edited.
Prompt from Ena: “A goldfish (in a plastic bag) and a ferris wheel”
Prompt from Jen: “Fuck Murdoch”

POV: Multiple 3rd person, limited

Steve.
“Oh, Jesus, it was the biggest disaster! Worst fucking date you could imagine! No, of course I didn’t! Shit, mate, I didn’t even get a handshake. I actually flipped her a middle finger when I stormed off. No, no, she didn’t see it. I’m not a tool. She was still on the ferris wheel, far too far away to see it.”

Steve had to give Robbie an update, but he really didn’t want to go into details. He always asked her how it was that all the women he dated were batshit crazy; while Robbie, (the only woman he would ever honestly love he was beginning to think), would shrug in that self satisfied way that lesbian little sisters who get plenty – plenty! – of action do.

Steve had given up asking Robbie for advice. It seemed the truth was that all the good ones were gay. Wait, didn’t women used to make that joke about decent men? Was it a joke? He was starting to feel like an endangered species, and he didn’t just mean because he hadn’t practiced his breeding technique for a few weeks.

Meet a vaguely sane girl – sorry, woman – go on a pleasant evening out. Make out a bit. Repeat a few times before moving to some real action. That was how it was supposed to work. That’s how it used to work in college. In his thirties, however, he seemed to have been teleported into a completely different game. Was this “Land of the Stepford Women”? or “Dating Hellscape from Hell”? He’d have to work on those names. They didn’t sound particularly witty, or original.

It had started innocently enough. Maria, the date before tonight’s, had complained that he was too directive. Perhaps he should have consulted with her before just making booking at a restaurant. He had done this because Lupita, the date before Maria, had asked him to man up and make a decision when he checked back with her five times before booking a restaurant. Which he had done because Courtney, before her, had – deliberately he thought – vomited on the way home after he had eaten fish for dinner. She was a vegetarian. He can’t stand artichokes and had made what he thought was a reasonable compromise. But, no, the sight of him eating fish had literally sickened her, apparently.

But tonight, Sarah had grasped the brass ring, won the prize, gained the crown, and would forever (because he was never going to date again) be the Batshit Crazy Queen.

Sarah.
“Oh, well, that was a great idea!” Sarah told Felicity, voice dripping with sarcasm, “At least I’ve saved myself the problem of a second date. Perhaps taking Murdoch on the first date wasn’t so damned smart, after all.”

“Murdoch had a great night,” Felicity said, in her defense, as if that was the issue, here.

“What about the fish? He was apoplectic about the goldfish. Wouldn’t stop screaming,” demanded Sarah.

“Fish? He didn’t mention a fish. What fish?” asked Felicity, but Sarah couldn’t be bothered. If Murdoch had forgotten about Gargantua the goldfish, she sure as shit just wished she could, too. Hadn’t stopped him yelling, screaming, and kicking her in the shin over it, had it? She was never going to have children, she vowed. And the way her dating life was going, she actually didn’t need to make that decision. It was being made for her.

Why had she listened to her sister? Just because Felicity was married didn’t mean she knew a damned thing about dating. Certainly not dating in your thirties. In fact, Felicity was one of the few people she knew who had no, zero, zip, nada experience at dating in her thirties. She should have taken advice from her fellow unmarried serial-dating friends. But they clearly had no clue, which was why she’d asked Felicity. She had, in fairness, asked Felicity for a lightbulb, out of the box idea. She hadn’t been forced to take Murdoch, Felicity’s five year old son, with her on her first date with this Steve guy.

“You’ll quickly find out if he’s good father material,” Felicity had said.

Oh, god, what a crock of shit that idea was, in the cold hard light of this disaster. Sarah hung her head and, unable to decide whether to cry or scream, sighed deeply. She couldn’t even remember how the date had ended. She just knew the she should have said “No’” when Murdoch asked to ride on the ferris wheel, and refused to leave his goldfish with Steve.

Timbo.
Look, I really don’t know, man. It all happened so fast, like, I just reacted. We couldn’t save the little fella, tho. I feel bad about that. But she gave me a smile and a “Thanks for trying.” Whoa, man, I can’t wait to get to that age and start dating women like her! Yeah, real women. Not girls our age.

So, I saw them earlier. The dude she was with – complete tool – was moving around trying to hold her hand when she clearly had to hold the kid’s hand. Tool! One of them – it was probably her, not him – I wouldn’t be surprised, won a goldfish at the shooting range. If it was him, it was a really lucky shot, cuz he was just a tool. Why was she with him, anyway? It looked like they barely knew each other.

So the kiddo, his name’s Murdoch, drags the woman (turned out she’s his aunt) over to the ferris wheel, and I’m being real cool, like, taking tickets, telling people to keep their arms in.

Then Tooly McToolface says he’s going to stay and look after the goldfish. And the kid, because he has good taste, says No. There’s some back and forth then the woman and the kid and the goldfish come up and hand me two tickets. And I’m going to make a real cool comment about the goldfish needing a ticket, or goldfish ride free or something, but I just say “Please keep your arms inside”. At least I remembered to say “Please,” and at least I’m not the tool, here. And Tool, like he was only offering to look after the goldfish to be a hero, I reckon, he’s left on the ground and the kid and the woman get on the seat, I close the gate and wish them a happy ride.

So I’m watching them go around, of course, and about their second time past the kid shoves the goldfish out towards me and says something that I couldn’t hear, so I just smiled. But when the got about nearly to the top, there’s a cry. It was sort of faint, but I saw that the kid leans right over the side because I was looking right at them. Then there’s a louder scream, from the woman this time, and she yanks the kid firmly back into the seat.

I just watched that goldfish fall and thought “What the fuck do I do? What the fuck do I do?”

Marnie.
“Grandma, Grandma! It’s just me, Marnie, it’s ok,” Marnie yelled out as she put her key in the door and opened it. “Anthea and me just have to grab a change of clothes real quick.”

Anthea was half way up the stairs, hoping to get first choice of Marnie’s closet, when her progress was arrested by a very loud “What?” from Marnie’s Grandmother at the foot of the stairs. It wasn’t a feeble “Please repeat,” request. It was a fully confident “You will explain that comment, now, before anyone moves a muscle, young ladies.”

“It’s cool, Gran,” Marnie assured her, “Just a bit of mud.”

“What?” said Grandma. It wasn’t a repeat. It was a command to dribble out the next line of the story. Grandma could do this all night. Marnie sat on the stairs and looked down at the old lady, happy that she had someone who cared so much, even if she wished Gran’s hearing were less acute.

“Well,” Marnie said with what she hoped was a relaxed smile, “Anthea and me…” Her Grandmother’s mouth turned down. “Anthea and I,” and she saw Gran’s mouth shift back to firm but kind, “we were at the boardwalk, near the ferris wheel.” She knew if she gave too much detail Gran would get suspicious. And there was actually nothing to be suspicious of, here. But that was rarely the case so she had to concede that Gran was going to want a complete but not overblown accounting.

“That cute boy from school, Timbo, was working tonight. It’s ok, it’s ok!” She put her hands out in emphasis because Gran’s mouth reverted. “It was really simple, Gran. Some little toe rag threw a water bomb from the top of the ferris wheel and we got splashed”. She stopped. That actually was the truth.

“Yes, see, Mrs. O’Brien?” said Anthea, displaying her mud-splattered calf. “We’re just a bit muddy and wet and wanted to get a change of clothes. That’s all. Honest”. Marnie wished Anthea hadn’t added “Honest,” because that usually raised Gran’s suspicions like no other word.

“That’s all?” asked Gran. Clearly, they were under oath. She had also noticed a flicker of a smile on Marnie’s face.

“Well,” started Marnie, and she looked at Anthea and they both dissolved into giggles. “Well, it wasn’t a water bomb, it turns out. It was a goldfish”.

“What?” said Gran, and this one was a question, not a demand.

“This little kid,” Anthea began, “was on the ferris wheel with his mother”

“She wasn’t his mother,” interrupted Marnie, “He called her ‘Auntie’, remember”

“Oh, yeah,” said Anthea, wondering what that mattered. The woman and the guy with her were both old so who cared?

“Anyway,” Marnie continued, “The kid had this goldfish in a plastic bag, and he dropped it.”

“From the top of the ferris wheel,” concluded Anthea.

“And you got wet?” said Gran.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Marnie, who had forgotten that bit by now, “But then Timbo yells “I’ll save him!’ like he’s a superhero or something and he’s scrabbling around on the ground trying to grab this poor goldfish.”

Even Gran started to smile.

“So he got him, and he turns to the Uncle or the boyfriend or whoever he was and says, clearly panicked, “Your cup! Your cup!”

Marnie was giggling hard. Anthea went on “So Timbo drops the goldfish right in this guy’s drink! And the guy looks down and he just looks at Timbo and says ‘You owe me a beer, man,’ and he hands the cup to Timbo then just walks away!” She had to stop and suck in some air. “The kid and his aunt get down, finally, and there’s Timbo holding this cup of beer full of dirt and a dead goldfish”.

They laughed so hard, rolling on the stairs, Gran feared they were likely to wet themselves anew.

Gargantua.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
I’m flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyying!

Ground control to Major Gargantua.
Ground control to Major Gargantua.
Take your protein pill and put your helmet on!

One small step for a goldfish, one giant leap for goldfish kind.

What is Truth? What is Beauty? Is there a God?

Oooh, was that my life flashing before my eyes? Short. Good thing I can’t blink.

SPLAT!

Fuck Murdoch!