I’ve been reading the odd bit of flash fiction here and there. I particularly liked this. And so I thought I’d give it a go myself. This was a strange idea that came to me and seemed as good an idea as any to start with…
’The Worth Of Blue Things’
There was chaos on the streets on the day it was announced the value of blue things was rising. The biros were the first to go. Shop assistants were being screamed at and becoming shivering wrecks on the floor. There was no telling people that they were out of stock. People began tracing them to their source. Chasing down trucks and offering extortionate amounts of money for their contents. The smarter ones were seeking down more obscure items. They went to bookshops, fully aware that there would be a range of illustrated children’s books that would have plenty of blue in them. Areas of clothes shops were stripped bare, leaving creams and yellows to hang listlessly. Others travelled out of the city, scouring fields to find bluebells, and cornflowers, and, in desperation, irises. Upon arrival it was clear that plenty of people had been here before. Forlorn stems reached up from the ground, their flower snapped off of them.
It happened so quickly. Word of mouth amongst friends was all it took. Friends that were supposed to keep it a secret for the time being. Someone had heard that the worth of blue things was about to rise exponentially and there was no stopping that knowledge from leaking out.
A scrawny gentleman donning an ironic bow-tie was the one to announce it at the stock exchange; he entered his colleague’s plush office and slammed both hands onto the desk. The grin that had been present when he swept into the room only began to grow larger. The colleague was busy. He was on the phone to Paris.
“Hang up the phone.” He was told.
In a place riddled with fatuous urgency it was not uncommon for someone to arrive unannounced and slam their palms onto your oak desk. He had become desensitised to such actions. He gestured with his index finger for the gentleman with the ironic bow-tie to give him a moment. He covered the end of the handset closest to his mouth and gestured at it. ‘Paris’ he mouthed silently.
“I don’t give a shit about Paris,” said the man with the ironic bow-tie, “This is huge.” He was forced to gesture once more with his index finger, words like ‘huge’ had lost their meaning in a place which deals in 7 figure digits as a normal sum on a daily basis. The new arrival did not accept this and swiftly reached across with his agile finger. He lowered it to the button he was looking for and ended the conversation that was occurring over the phone. The man behind the desk was aghast, but he eventually said,
“This better be as huge as you say it is.”
“Oh, it is,” said the man, “take a look at this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. He slid it across the desk. The man behind the desk unfurled it and began to scan its contents.
His eyes widened, “Is this true?”
“From what I hear.”
“This’ll change everything.”
“Like I say: huge.”
“But what about money? What’ll happen to money?”
“I don’t know. But all I know is that the worth of blue things is set for such a rise it might as well be attached to a fucking rocket.”
And so the news leaked out. It had to really. There was no way this was going to be kept locked up. And as the news began to spread to every part of the globe, and as the panic and the chaos filled the streets, humanity seemed to come to a realisation in unison, and slowly they moved their crazed gaze up towards the sky.