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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Contest · #2179484
Ninth entry into the Daily Flash Fiction contest
In the secluded sanctuary of their dining room, an elderly couple had commenced their weekly ritual, a roast dinner. Just as the husband passed the gravy boat across to his wife, she exchanged a folded letter, by sliding it along the table with her free hand.

"This came today, dear"

Immediately, the husband took out a pair of reading glasses that were tucked away in his top pocket and opened the document out, to digest.

"Those flaming wolves, and their stupid development, when will they leave us alone?!"

"Martin, if we don't accept that offer, they're threatening to take legal action"

"Nonsense, Marge, just a trap forcing us into giving up".

In a fit of frustration, Martin crumbled the paper into a ball and threw it as far away from the table as he could muster.

"It's two million pounds, Martin, we're now the only people on the plot that hasn't sold"

"Pah! That figure soon rose from a half million, the lousy ratbags".

Placing down her cutlery, Marge leaned over and placed her hand over Martins, who was clenching his fork tight in anger.

"This is your father's house, I'll support you with whatever you want to do..."

"It boils my blood, a bunch of snotty graduates telling us to move. Eighty years I've lived here, eighty bloody years, Marge!"

"Calm down, dear, your getting too worked up again"

"You know my father bought this house. Only inches away from a disastrous cave-in at the mine, he worked as a boy, he then ran away. Worked and slept outdoors until he could afford one place inside he felt safe again, and here we are.

"God rest his soul"

"We're just a dried up old childless couple to those soulless businessmen. No price is worth our home, we’re going nowhere”
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