Flash Fiction February 2019 Daily Update: February 4th

Are you taking part in #FlashFictionFebruary2019?

It’s never too late to start. Even one story for the month is one more than you had previously!

Today’s Story Title: Yellowed Pages

Today’s Story Is #4 of 28

Today’s Genre: Urban Fantasy

Today’s Word Count: 439

What’s your current story? How many have you achieved? Tell me all about it!

“Ma, I love you, but whiskey isn’t a cure for the common cold,” Georgia sighed as her mother squawked her objection. “No, I know, Ma.”

Georgia turned the knob, pocketing her pick set and let the front door swing shut behind her.

Her mother’s rambling had her rolling her eyes.

“Why not just go see Doctor Page? He’s got that whole ‘I’ve birthed your babies, I can keep you healthy even though I’m so old I remember being skating buddies with Jesus Christ’ and stuff?”

The grumbling from the other end of the line had her snickering as she flicked on the hall light.

“I know you don’t like-oh my god,” Georgia gasped.

 

The room was barely lit by the hall’s dim light. But every available surface was absolutely covered. Stacks upon stacks, piles of the damn things everywhere.

 

“What? No! No, I’m fine. I just…I found Philly’s horde.”

Georgia slapped on the next light switch, shaking her head in disappointment.

“I’m not telling you. Ask her yourself. And go to the doctor, Ma,” Georgia picked her way across the living room carefully. “At least I can see the floor.”

 

Georgia pulled the fridge open and stared, hoping against reason there would be something edible within.

She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“Ma… Your youngest stocks their fridge like an unsupervised teenager,” Georgia said.

“What do you mean what do I mean? Like, there’s a lidless jar of peanut butter, a moldy orange, a case of really bad beer, and,” she paused.

 

 There was a stack of take out containers that were visibly growing some sort of mold.

 

“Chinese food. At least, I think it is? But it’s been here so long, it’s practically a fridge-based democracy.”

 

There was a thump from the driveway. A car door closing.

 

“Gotta go. Philly is finally home,” Georgia closed the fridge and exited the tiny galley kitchen. Again, the cautious journey across the jam-packed living room to wait in the front hall for her baby sister.

 

To her credit, Philomena didn’t even look surprised when she opened the door to Georgia’s judgmental stare.

“Ah, I see someone has taken to breaking and entering again,” Philly said as she dropped her purse onto the side table and hung up her keys.

“Ma asked me to check up on you. Haven’t heard from you in a few months,” Georgia explained, her arms still crossed over her chest.

“Mm,” Philly nodded, toeing off her shoes and shrugging out of her jacket. “Well, go on, say whatever is on your mind.”

“What kind of dragon hoards phone directories?!” Georgia motioned to the yellow-dominated living room.

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