Writing Prompt No. 68
She hated it.
That bloody umbrella. A reminder of the worst argument they’d had before they split up for good. Everyone said they couldn’t believe it. What a shock! Are you sure? Is this what you want? But you were so perfect together!
That umbrella. Anna and Phil stood in the middle of Ikea having a complete slanging match. And it all began with whether or not they should get a red or blue sun umbrella for their patio.
Red, said, Anna.
I like blue, said Phil.
Okay, get blue, said Anna, I don’t mind.
But you do mind, said Phil, otherwise you would’ve said blue.
Really, said Anna, I don’t care.
So you don’t care, said Phil.
About what? said Anna.
That’s just you all over, said Phil, you actually don’t care about any of it.
Anna by now was beginning to sweat. Small beads of perspiration collecting on her forehead. She always began to sweat when she was stressed. And now she was stressed.
For fuck’s sake, said Anna. It’s just an umbrella.
Jesus said Phil, you are just unbelievable sometimes.
Something snapped. Anna felt as if her emotions had stepped out of her body. She picked up a large cheap vase displayed in the Urban Minimal room set and threw it at Phil right at his head. A woman standing nearby took a sharp intake of breath, eyes wide as the vase appeared to move through the air in slow motion. It landed at Phil’s feet shattering into one million pieces.
Bastard said, Anna.
She readjusted her handbag on her shoulder as Phil lifted the red umbrella into the trolley.
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