Stay Classy


He’d insisted on arriving by helicopter. Helicopter!  She stood on the roof dutifully, at a safe distance from the helipad, her honey-blond locks whipping around her face. Her boss, Ed, the station manager, sighed deeply. He was as annoyed as she.

Finally, the helicopter touched down and Ron emerged, wearing a flashy suit in a color that could only be described as neon tangerine. His hair, held in place by layers of hairspray, didn’t move as he walked toward them with a swagger.

He greeted Ed first, ignoring Veronica’s extended hand.

“Can you get me a coffee, honey?” Ron asked, not bothering to look at her.

Her eyes narrowed. She ignored his request and decided to head inside.  “I’ll see you at six.”

“Wait, what?!” Ron yelled after her. “YOU’RE my co-anchor? YOU’RE going to read MY news??? But you’re a…a…”

She smiled tightly. “Let’s stay classy, Ron.” She disappeared inside the building as Ron stared after her, dumbfounded.

“I’m going to marry that woman,” he said, to no one in particular.


For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.  The picture prompt this week reminded me of the opening scene of one of my all-time favorite movies, Anchorman.



It’s not my fault.  Anne was missing deadlines, making stupid mistakes.  I didn’t mince words on Friday when I told her to clear out her desk.  She didn’t make a scene, just gave me a tight-lipped smile and left the room quietly.  I should have known then.

I am nervous when my boss asks me to come into the conference room, where the HR rep is waiting.  Covering the table is a print-out of every email I ever sent to Anne, dating back years.  Messages she promised were deleted.  My face is hot as I drop into the nearest chair.


The Moral Mondays prompt this week is Harsh Words Stir up Anger.



February had just ended what felt like a second ago, but the dogwoods along the edge of the building were already blooming in brilliant pinks and yellows, while the aroma of honeysuckle hung heavily in the air.

She looked at her desk, where an untouched salad stared back at her.  It would already be dark when she left, another day wasted.  She closed the takeout container and carried it across the street to the park, where she turned off her phone and dug out the brand new paperback she’d bought months ago but hadn’t yet cracked open.

An hour later, the salad was long-finished but she hadn’t moved, still engrossed in the book and the sun and a glorious early spring.   She’d let them search for her a little while longer.

The prompt for the six sentence story challenge this week is second.



Anna, the most intimidating boss Jamie’d ever had, had scheduled a meeting with her.  As if Jamie’s nerves weren’t already frayed enough!  Anna always had a way of making her feel like she was an idiot, twisting her words to make her inconsequential, a nobody.

Anna strode through the office door, wiping her hands on her pants leg, wearing her usual solemn expression, but Jamie suddenly felt relaxed, knowing once and for all that Anna was no better than she.

“Jamie, thanks for coming in,” Anna began, as if Jamie had a choice.

“Of course, Anna, but before we begin, I should tell you – there’s toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe.”

The theme for the six sentence story challenge this week is fray.