I quickly visited Flash Fiction to grab the button again ... and guess what?!? Her first character is the mayor of Renaissance too! Still, our stories will be very different. Here's my first instalment (608 words):
|Rule of Three Blogfest|
Three men exited the Council building, one holding the heavy glass door for the others. The building was a squat, 50’s-style, unassuming understatement, set back from the corner of the Targe and Kris streets, behind native shrubs that overwhelmed it. The men, all dressed in dark grey variations of the same suit, wandered out onto the yellow grass to continue their conversation.
“I could still veto the decision, you know,” Peter P. Petersham, the mayor of Renaissance declared provocatively. “I just don’t think you’ve got the best interests of this town at heart.”
“Come on, Pete. It’s called progress. We can’t stay stuck in the dark ages forever,” said Allen, a fellow councillor and the owner of the local shoe shop.
“It will be good for the town. Tourism will improve, the local kids will have jobs, and it might start attracting more business to the area,” this was Carl, the owner of the newsagency.
One of Peter P. Petersham’s three mobile phones chirped like a cricket, causing him to jump and fumble for the right one. It was common knowledge to the other 330 of the town’s residents that Peter P. Petershawm carried a phone for each of the women in his life: the wife, and two girlfriends who were oblivious of each other.
Mumbling as he typed some pleasantry to keep the woman of the moment happy, the mayor had soon dealt with the distraction and returned his thoughts to the impending misfortune of Renaissance. “You both seem to forget the very reason why you moved here in the first place, along with most of the rest of the town: to get away from the corporate greed and seek a better life. Renaissance has been an almost closed community for over 50 years. We are all prosperous because we look after each other, and everyone stays local. I don’t want our small businesses to be threatened - our very way of life threatened - by large corporate franchises coming in and taking over. Not to mention the rubbish that will be generated.” He gestured wildly whilst he spoke, brining his hands to rest when he had finished by hooking his thumbs into his belt and rocking forward on his toes like an exclamation mark.
“This is not going to open some flood gate. Every development application will still have to come through us. You’re acting like this is the worst thing in the world. It’s still going to be owned by a local,” Allen began to move away, tired of the conversation. Some of the other councillors were now leaving the building, and skirting around the three men on the grass - some even skirting around behind the native shrubs - to avoid listening to their mayor.
“Let the decision rest. Get used to the idea, because it’s coming,” Carl wanted to say “suck it up”, but turned and stalked away quickly to avoid another half an hour of the same arguments they had all heard before.
Peter P. Petersham watched as all his councillors deserted him. He felt empty and lost as all the cars pulled away and the main street seemed to quickly become desolate and abandoned. Another of his phones chose that moment to thrill, awakening him from his melancholy. After seeing that it was his wife, he decided to ignore it. He was heading home anyway.
Turning north on Kris Street, the mayor started his short walk home. The last of the autumn light was fading, seeming to soften the very air and a haze hung in the distance. He was disappointed in the evening’s outcome, and fearful for the future. Particularly his own.