Dear friend,

Over here at The Company we are getting ready for our fall writing contest, which will be judged by Thirzah (who just released her newest book, A Traitor’s Vow). This year’s theme is “Pumpkin Spice”. As a fun exercise, we apprentices got to do some flash fiction this week inspired by that theme. I hope the short story I wrote inspires you to create something to submit to the contest (here are more details on how to submit).

They say that when life gives you limes make limeade. Or at least, something like that. Honestly, I prefer to make key lime pie out of the sour fruit life throws at me. It goes well with a nice mug of black coffee. Pie and coffee generally pair well, especially pumpkin pie with a graham cracker crust and coffee sprinkled with a little cinnamon.

I glanced at the grimy shopping carts jammed together just inside the automatic Walmart doors, but passed without grabbing one. I could carry everything I needed this time.

I inhaled the maple and cinnamon scented candle display at the end of the home goods section. My grandma always had a three-wick candle burning in her house. I smiled, then beelined past the produce isle.  A half-dozen gala apples leaned forlornly against each other, a mix of green, red, and brown. A single spaghetti squash sat in the otherwise empty bin labeled pie pumpkins.

I passed the dairy and the refrigerated section. A bright yellow tag declared the fresh apple cider from to be on sale for ten dollars for a gallon. The shelf was empty.

I marched passed the deli counter, a tank of bored lobsters watching me. I gave them a salute like I did when I was a kid. One waved back at me. I looked over my shoulder to make sure it wasn’t just waving at someone it knew.

When I got to the bakery section, my eyes skimmed the shelves of fresh-baked-that-week goods.

I skimmed the shelves again.

Then I carefully looked at the tags labeling the goods and their prices, setting my gaze on each one as I went. My eyes stopped at the little paper that read “Pumkin Pie” with “$8” printed below it, and looked at the empty row behind it.

Well, then.

I navigated through the last-minute shoppers to the canned goods isle. Every can of pumpkin puree, every can of pumpkin pie filling, and every can of sweet potatoes was gone. Even the spices for pumpkin pie were out of stock. I growled under my breath. I’d promised Grandma a pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving tomorrow. With her arthritis getting bad she couldn’t make it herself this year.

I turned and went back to the candle endcap. I snatched up a maple scented candle for Grandma and waited in a ten-person line at the single open cash register that was run by a bored-looking clerk.

I drove ten over the speed limit to the little Wiersma’s Grocery by our dingy corner gas station. As I got out of my car, a couple raindrops pattered on the top of my head. I brushed at them in annoyance. I pushed the button on my keys to lock the car, which chirped at me to let me know everything inside it would be safe until I returned. I ran the speed of a walk to show everyone that I was in a hurry and to not get in my way please. I swung the door open only to come face to face with my cousin. I plastered a smile on my face.

“Jenny! What a surprise. How are you?” my cousin exclaimed. She balanced her two-year-old daughter with pigtails on one hip as she held a paper bag closed in the other. “It’s been too long. I had to get pumpkin pie and ice cream for Thanksgiving with Daniel’s family tomorrow. I was just in time and I managed to get the last pie! Though it is a bit rough looking, so I’ll have to cover it in whipped cream and hope nobody notices. Well, I’ve gotta go, dear, but it was good talking to you! Give my love to Grandma!”

She gave me a side hug that barely touched me, then scurried off to her car. My smile peeled off and drifted to the ground. I tried to catch my breath, even though I hadn’t said a thing. My eyes glazed as I wandered through the eight isles, barely registering the scantily stocked shelves. I locked eyes with the lady closing up the empty baked-goods counter. She gave me a sympathetic smile.

I sighed and bought key limes.

I hope you enjoyed this little piece of autumn inspired fiction. If you did, and you missed the short story I wrote to promote the summer contest earlier this year, you can read it here.

Now that you’re sufficiently inspired, go write a story to submit!

Sincerely,

R. J. Catlin