For the third time, I hefted the acceptance letter. A robin’s chirp drew me to the window. The fledgling perched on the edge of the eaves, the last of the brood. You can do it. Fly. It flapped its wings, practising. The toaster popped. ‘Breakfast is up,’ said Mom. I kissed the letter. Afterword The mission was […]
White cotton singlet straining to cover his rotund belly. And failing. Dismally. Tightest footy shorts. How did you even get into them? I suppress a shudder. Bare feet with long, dirty toenails. On your couch? Sure. The beach? Sure. The park? Okay. Ducking in to buy milk? I guess. My restaurant for dinner service? As likely as
High heels, red soles. Short skirt. Dangerous. The table overflowed with chips, cheese boards and dips. Her plate, empty. I approach. “The problem of too much choice?” “I normally know what I want.” And you get it, I bet. “Have a favourite dip?” “I do enjoy a skinny dip.” Outside, the lake sparkled. Afterword The mission
Aimed at the battleship, the cannon stood ready, resolute. The brink of war. A war for power, money, land and—above all else—glory. Strategy would be key, luck too. A roll of the dice. Literally. Bridget plonked the cannon upon the GO square, the edge of the board tapping the kitchen bench. Afterword The mission was
J1. Take my seat by the window. Please, no J2. Looking good, doors about to close. Last minute arrival. Bag slides into the locker above. Polite hi, then back to my book. His arm strays across the dividing line. One wine in, the questions start. He seems nice. Onto glass two, they become overly personal.
Wine loosens the tongue Read More »
