IWD | Night Parrot Press x Writing WA
1 min
A FINE FINE
Susan Midalia
Lydia always kept a notebook on the front passenger seat of her car in case an idea for a story popped into her head. One day, when the lights turned red, she grabbed her book and scribbled on the page: miasma. Then the light turned green and she put her car into gear, pondering miasmic possibilities.
She heard a siren behind her. A cop in a cop car waved her over, then stepped out onto the road. He was stern-faced, granite-jawed, and mimed to wind down her window.
You've just committed an offence, Madam, he said.
It's illegal to use your phone while driving.
Lydia gasped. But I wasn't using my phone, Officer. I was writing.
Writing?
A story. You know. Fiction.
It's still dangerous, Madam. You took your eyes off the road. You could have caused a collision. You've incurred a two-hundred dollar fine.
Lydia smiled in what she hoped was a winsome manner. I'm sorry, Officer, she said. But a word for a story just struck me and I had to write it down before it drifted from my mind.
Ah. Very deft, she said. You've literalised my metaphors. Allow me to explain.
The cop sighed. That's another two hundred dollars, he said. For your snobbish assumption that a member of the noble police force, entrusted with the safety of the community in these nefarious times, is intellectually inferior to a person who engages in creative endeavor.
My. You use such big words, Officer.
That's another two hundred dollars, Madam. For puerile and cloying condescension.
Lydia frowned. Why are you being so combative?
That's another two hundred, Madam. For antagonistic, unrepentant but ultimately futile gestures of resistance.
You have such a nuanced vocabulary, Officer. And such a commanding sense of rhythm. Why on earth are you a cop?
He opened his notebook. I couldn't make a living as a writer, he said.
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