Competition Thirty-Five Winning Flash Fiction: The Time We Met in Greggs and JC Tweeted It Was the Last Supper by Emma Phillips
He sat in the middle with his touch screen smile, flicking his fringe, calling us homies. JC broke his sausage roll into pieces, said it was his body, offered Dr Pepper as his blood, told us he loved us but was going away for a while. #Small town #Loser.
Bruh, Tommy muttered, lips stained tomato – red, chewing pepperoni and spitting obedience. We’ll keep in touch. What’s App the group. JC’s grin grew weaker then, a holier-than-thou look as he leant away from the counter and lowered his volume, In times like these, trust no one. Matt raised an eyebrow at JC’s paranoia, brushing away crumbs, ignoring how the counter staff stared at him like his words were bats flying from the cavern of his mouth. Even Paul looked up from his phone when JC claimed one of us would betray him. Jude, it’ll be you, he reckoned. I forgive you, man.
It was when he tried to wash our feet with Zero Sugar Sprite that we knew there were other factors at play. Too many late nights, all those Son of God TikToks. JC fancied himself as an influencer but this was a step too far. So yeah, someone had to put a stop to his LARPing. I bought a box of Pink Jammie doughnuts on the way out and JC kissed my head like he already knew this was a matter for Prevent. When I took a bite and jam oozed down my chin, I swear I could taste his bleeding heart.
Emma Phillips lives by the M5 in Devon, which sometimes lures her away in search of adventure. Her words appear in print and online in various places, for which she is extremely grateful.
Enjoyed reading this flash fiction? Like the artwork? Why not buy the author or the artist a coffee? Donate here – Please state the name!
Tags: