Creative · experiment · Fiction · Flash Fiction · Realism · Slice of Life · writing

Inheritance | Bite-Sized Fiction, III

Here we are again!

The third piece of flash fiction written for my assignment, and as such, not tried and tested. Feedback is immensely important if you could tell me honestly how it read!

Please refer to my first piece for context of why I am writing this form of fiction.

This story focuses on a poorly decorated attorney’s office in which the matter of inheritance is being discussed. However, things take quite the unexpected twist…


My day, thus far, had been all but a perfect echo of previous ones; at large, a reflection of my whole life until this point.

Out of place.

Absolutely, positively inconceivable.

The chair I was sat on felt cheap and poorly made, if the lumps in the decorative cushion beneath my rear were any indication. The walls were all but repulsive to look at, between the awkwardly textured wallpaper and the lime green shade. They had obviously tried to liven up the room a little, but that endeavour was a dismal failure.

I could almost stomach the sparsely furnished room and its awful attempt at minimalism, if it were not for the man sat opposite me.

Have you ever heard the phrase “You are what you eat”? Well, this delightful individual brought new and vivid meaning to that.

His face was all but identical in shape and shade as a stewed prune; burst blood vessels beneath his eyes taking the form of mottled colour spattered here and there.

I suppose I could forgive his dour appearance, if it were not for that pitiful look he gave me above the wire rims of his reading glasses.

“We are terribly sorry for your loss.” He stated slowly and purposefully, with a nauseous amount of rehearsal thrown in.


I know why I can’t stand this place now, alongside the awful décor and the infuriating gentleman attending me.

It felt wholly fake.

“Me too.” I responded through a gritted smile.

In truth, I’d only met the old bat once. It just so happened that I was the last remaining relative to her, and I was due some stupid dust-gathering trinkets.

Go figure.

“I have Ms. Beatrice’s last will and testament here.” He continued, clearing his throat and hacking something into his pocket handkerchief. “She doesn’t have a lot left after the reclaiming of her various properties, as I’m sure you’re aware…”

His voice became background noise then, feather-like eyebrows rising and falling in tiem with the few occasions he blinked.

I couldn’t seem too insincere, or they’d send me away, surely; realise that she was just some old lady that I’d latched onto in her waning years.

Of course, they believed I was some relative or other. Being a good forger was only one of my many talents.

“… She has left you the Manor House, worth approximately… let’s see…” His droning tone roused me effectively, and I went back to staring at him.

“… Pardon?” I interjected.

The Manor House? In my name?

“Why yes, the property is yours.”

It took all of my willpower to stop an inane grin growing on my face. The hag had really come through after all!

Now, what would my next enterprise be…?


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