I'm trying my hand at some flash fiction - 300 word snapshots of story. Haven't decided yet if they'll be self contained, ongoing, both... we'll see.
When my dad comes home, I go to bed. Our driveway’s long – the headlights give me enough time to brush my teeth. When I was little, I’d be waiting for him, and I’d ask and ask for an ‘aeroplane ride’ to bed. Sometimes I got one, and he’d swing me up into the air between his hands and fly me around the house, and when he put me into bed he’d kiss me, and his beard tickled and smelt of books and coffee. Sometimes he’d buy a packet of jam tart biscuits at the servo on the way home, and mum’d make some tea and a little mug of warm milk for me, and I was allowed to stay up a bit longer for a biscuit, but I had to brush my teeth again before I went to bed.
I don’t wait for dad to come home any more. He doesn’t like me to be up when he gets home. Mum told Nanna once that he works late so everyone’s asleep when he gets home, but she didn’t know I heard. Mum doesn’t mind if I roller-skate in the hallway, ‘cause I cook tea when I get home from school, and the floorboards aren’t polished anyway. Dad doesn’t like the noise while he’s watching TV. Sometimes he checks where the roller-skates are, to see if I’ve been using them in the hallway. He says they damage the boards, but I don’t think they do. I hide them under the old shoes at the bottom of my wardrobe so he thinks I haven’t been skating on the floorboards. He hasn’t noticed yet.
When dad comes home, I pretend to be asleep. He looks in when he walks past my room, but he hardly ever checks to see if I’m still awake.