Feeling good

Steven drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. By his reckoning he’d now been sat behind this tractor for 15 minutes.

He honked his horn. He honked it hard.

Still nothing.

He turned off the engine but, keeping the battery active, he switched on the radio. Barry White was half way through one of his deep, sexy, love songs.

Steven smiled for the first time in 16 minutes. He loved a good juxtaposition.

Giles (the farmer) stared up at the blue sky. It had been a hard day, and the cushion of hay under his back was feeling damn good.



Submitted forย Friday Fictioneersย photo prompt. See if you can write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words.


42 thoughts on “Feeling good

  1. Nice! He is one patient man, sitting there for 15 minutes. I like Giles’ attitude to things though. (by the way, is it supposed to be “he’d now been sitting behind…”?)

    1. Ah, grammar, my confusing friend…

      hmm, you’re probably right. I tend to write the way I talk. I don’t talk all that good apparently. ๐Ÿ˜‰

      Thanks for reading.

  2. I enjoyed the comments as much as your story. As David said, it could be “had been sitting” or you could say “he’d sat” and use a few words elsewhere. Either would work.


    1. There’s an awful lot of doom and gloom around here of late, I thought it was nice to have a happy ending for once ๐Ÿ˜‰

    1. Thanks, Patrick.
      As for being first… The pic goes up just as I’m sipping coffee on a Wednesday morning. I tend not to think too much about what I’m writing and just let it flow, double check I’ve hit my 100 words and then hit post.

      …thinking about it, I should probably take a little more care.

  3. If one must be stuck behind an immovable object on the road, the strains of Barry White should at least take some of the pressure off. I have to say, Giles needs to get up and move his issues off the road soon. ๐Ÿ™‚


  4. I think the farmer would have reached for his gun, too, if he’d had his snooze interrupted by a tourist blasting his car horn AND Barry White at him. Believe me, I know. I’ve had a French ‘farmer’ shoot past me into my garden, as I stood in it.

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