This was an entry for the March 2022 Furious Fiction competition run by the Australian Writers’ Centre. Entrants are given 55 hours from the first Friday of the month to write a 500 word story while adhering to set criteria. The winner receives a prize of $500. Due to the time pressure and its tendency to come up when I’m most busy, I typically don’t produce very inspired work but its an enjoyable exercise for creative muscles.
The criteria for this month’s Furious Fiction was the following:
- The story must have a crime being committed.
- The story must involve a door being opened.
- It must include the words ‘FORK’, ‘CHALK’ and ‘BETWEEN’.
“This is a robbery.”
The malice of those four muttered words was muffled by the light-blue surgical mask wrapped around the man’s face.
The cashier, a lanky teenager in her first job, looked up from the store catalogue she was reading.
“I’m sorry?” The girl asked.
“I said, this is a robbery.” The man muttered again, this time projecting his voice to be heard over the just-too-loud muzak seeping through the stereo speakers overhead.
The girl looked around the store. The Thursday afternoon shift was usually quiet, but this one was especially so. The storefront was empty except for the stocky man standing at the counter, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his khaki shorts. After a moment, she spoke.
“This is a Cotton-On.” She said, hoping the implication was clear.
“Just put the money in the bag.”
He pulled his hand out of his pocket, gripping a loosely woven mesh bag between his fingertips and waving it in front of her.
“You want me to put money in that?” She asked. “There’s a lot of coin.”
He sighed and stood there in thought. Resolved, he swung the reusable plastic Woolworths bag from off his shoulder. He stepped forward and handed it to her around the recently installed Perspex screen before retreating behind the 1.5 metre line.
She upturned the bag and emptied the contents onto the counter. A full red cabbage bounced off the glass coming to a rest alongside the fork that had also clattered out of the bag. A moment passed before she locked eyes with his blood-shot pupils, contrasting with his chalkish complexion.
“Did you only buy a cabbage?”
“Just put it in there. Please.”
She shrugged. Fifteen dollars an hour didn’t particularly demand loyalty.
With a few taps of the screen, the register bounced open. She dug into the recesses of the machine, keeping a mental tally as she filled the bag.
“It’s about 82 dollars and some change.”
“Thank you.” He held his arms out for the bag to be placed in them.
She paused, before tapping the sheet of paper taped to the other side of the screen.
“Did you sign in?”
“Oh yeah, no problems. Sorry about that.” While he was talking, he flashed out his phone with practiced ease. With barely any time to think, he had lined it up to the QR code and the small chime notified him that his sign-in was successful.
A pregnant pause filled the room. The crescendo of the stereo orchestra had reached its peak. The two stared at each other as the moment that had passed sunk in.
“Ah.” The man said. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” The girl replied.
He sighed, nodded to the cashier as if to apologise for the time wasted, before promptly turning on his heel. He took quick steps to the automatic door, waited for it to squeak open and marched out into the late afternoon sun.
The girl looked down at the counter. It was fortunate she liked cabbage.
Cheers,
Marcus
Caravellum 
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