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| Found on Google Images. I own nothing. Just imagine there’s an inkwell, okay? |
FLASH FICTION PROMPT
“The ratings go up, the ratings go down. Forget about the
ratings!” The plump redhead slammed the teacup down on the old wooden
desk. “For the love of all things sane, man!” She scowled. “Get a hold
of yourself!”
“I’m trying!” He growled back. “Not that you’re helping.”
“I’m not trying to be helpful!” She snarled back. “You don’t need
helpful right now. Right now, you need a kick in the pants and a fire
under that oversized-”
“Don’t you dare!” He roared. “I will not have you speak to me like-”
“Like what? Like the spoiled brat you are?” She sniffed,
disdainfully. “You know something, your highness?” Her voice was
sickeningly sweet. “I always thought you were a spoiled, pampered brat–I
never thought you’d actually prove me right!”
“Get out!” He shoved the papers, inkwells and books off the desk at the strangely calm woman.
She merely wrinkled her nose, straightened her skirts and sailed from
the room with her head held high. “I will be down in the kitchens,” her
voice floated over. “If you think you might have the nerve to prove me
wrong.”
(c) Sara Harricharan