February 2020 Flash Lit #8 - Battle Scars

“’The great art of riding,’ the Knight suddenly began in a loud voice, waving his right arm as he spoke, ‘is to keep—’  Here the sentence ended as suddenly as it had begun, as the Knight fell heavily on the top of his head exactly in the path where Alice was walking.  She was quite frightened this time, and said in an anxious tone, as she picked him up, ‘I hope no bones are broken?’”  Through the Looking Glass, Chapter 8

Even a concussion was a poor excuse, really.  No matter how dazed she was, Jenny knew that nothing good would come of letting Craig help her up and dust off the snow and collect her scattered skis and poles.  She should have pulled herself together to get to the lodge on her own.  Of course, in the moment, she didn’t know it was a concussion yet—that wouldn’t be clear until after she got home and kept losing her balance.

Anyway, Craig with that crinkle in the corner of his eyes that implied mischief, snapped her back into her ski bindings and led her, feebly protesting, down the rest of the slope as if she were a good little duck and he the solicitous parent.  There was nothing parental in the way he bought her a shot of whiskey, though.

In an alcohol-and-impact haze, she texted her friends who had attacked higher and more difficult terrain that she was going to head back to the condo.  Craig, his red-brown hair sticking up in all directions now that he had removed his ski hat, insisted that he should follow her to ensure she got back safely.  Jenny Puddleduck led the foxy Craig down the winding path.

Predictably, once inside the condo, Craig offered to rub Jenny’s aching shoulders, suggesting that maybe they should take a dip in the hot tub on the deck.

When her friends returned a couple of hours later, Jenny had the soup on.  Her right hand had a bandage wrapped around the whole thing—she’d have the scar forever—and she was furiously scrubbing at the blood on the carpet.  “We’re going to have to forfeit the cleaning deposit,” she told the others, “but at least he was a meaty one.  Oh, and I’m going to need a new ski pole.”