Flash Fiction

MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT

by Valerie Lwile

“HE LOOKS NOTHING LIKE HIS PICTURE!!!!!!!”

I hit the send button and let out a sigh of frustration before taking a sip of the Cabernet Sauvignon. The guide said that the wine has notes of blackcurrants, eucalyptus, chocolate and tobacco, but at that moment all I could taste was my frustration. I took another sip that was more like a gulp and glanced at my phone, anxious for my best friend’s reply. Just my luck that I was catfished on my first online to real-life date. It’s a wine tasting event, they said. Live life, they said. I could be home binge-watching The Office but instead, I am on a faux date wondering whether to persevere or offend. While Patrick was no Idris Elba in his profile picture, “he” was reasonably handsome and had listed his height as 6’2”. But the man next to me looked nothing like the picture and had exaggerated his height by an entire foot so I was towering over him in my 6” strappy heels. Just then Patrick looked up at me and smiled. The audacity! I tried to smile back but I’m sure it came out as a grimace. “This next wine is a Shiraz,” the guide announced as servers began to pour. “You will notice it is a full-bodied wine with notes of tobacco, black pepper, blackberry and smoke.” I took a sip of the Shiraz, appreciating its bold flavour. I realised, with a touch of irony, that sampling various wines paired with gourmet cheeses and cold cut platters is my ideal first date. “Sorry but I have to get this,” Patrick said before walking out to answer his phone. I was admiring the artful décor and incandescent lighting of the hotel when I saw him at a table across the room. Tall, dark and handsome in a Linkin Park Minutes to Midnight hoodie, dark jeans, Nikes and hair like Michael B. Jordan in Black Panther, he was irresponsibly my type. He caught me checking him out and held my gaze, adjusting his stance to look directly at me. I smiled at him over the rim of my wineglass as I debated if it would be terrible of me to go say hi. While I was technically on a date, Patrick had used fake pictures to lure me in so I probably don’t owe him anything. Just then my phone beeped, alerting me to a reply from my best friend: “Crap!! Now what??” Now what indeed. As I was typing my reply I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to find Mr. TDH behind me. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what’s the prettiest girl here doing all by herself?” I opened my mouth to reply when I noticed Patrick making his way back to our table. The time had come to decide – persevere or offend. “It’s a funny story. I’m Valerie by the way,” I began as I led him across the room back to his table.

GRAPE STOMPING IN TUSCANY

by Sophie M Gitonga

She’s standing at the arrivals section waiting for him to emerge through the doors. She’s nervous about seeing him after the way they left things. ‘I’m going to be in Cape Town for six weeks; some lame work thingy. Why don’t you come down and we could do a couple of wine tours around Stellenbosch?’ She was on the plane before he could change his mind. They did one of those hop on and off wine tours. The Cabernet Sauvignon was superb and at the Blaauwklippen Valley, they drank perfumed Chenin Blanc. But it was the Pinotage with its velvety texture and long finish that impressed her as it danced on her pallet and loosened her tongue.

‘I love you Sammy; I always have.’ He waited a little too long to answer and she knew, even as her head swam in wine that while he loved her, it was filial. ‘I have to get back to Nairobi tomorrow.’ ‘I thought we had another day together?’ ‘It’s work, things are hectic and they need me so...’ There he stands now looking around for her. She watches him as he scans the crowd looking for her face; like a little boy who has become separated from his mother in the market. ‘Sammy,’ she calls him and when their eyes meet her stomach churns. Even after four years she still feels the same way and this is extremely inconvenient because she’s marrying someone else in two days. ‘I can’t believe you are here.’ ‘I couldn’t miss my best friend’s wedding now could I?’ She turns to look at him and he holds her face in his palm and she wishes they could stay like this forever. His touch is familiar like a well-worn sweater. She wants to tell him that it was always him: that if he just said the word they could run off together and go grape stomping in Tuscany. ‘I got you something, for you and Ian. I think you’ll like the Syrah; it’s nuanced and once it opens up you can taste the finery and the detail. The Chenin Blanc is for Ian. I don’t know anything about his tastes so I think this is a nice introduction.’ ‘Oh Ian doesn’t drink so this will be mine too,’ she grins. ‘Teetotaler?’ ‘Worse; a Christian.’ ‘Oh then wine is perfect, because, you know it’s in the bible and all,’ he smiles cheekily. ‘Why don’t we drink the Syrah to celebrate our past and my future…’ she stands and goes into the kitchen to find glasses. She fills the glasses halfway; they toast and drink while looking into each other’s eyes. ‘How did you meet Ian?’ ‘I prayed to God to help me forget you and he brought me, Ian.’ ‘Ouch, that’s savage.’ ‘I prefer to think of it as Syrah-induced honesty. I believe you said that it opens you up?’ ‘Well what I said was...oh never mind. Here’s to you and Ian.’