I’ve been wandering the beach by myself for hours, the sky overhead mirroring my gloomy mood. Dunno what made me look up but I’m glad I did. I’d have missed how the sunset lights up the houses otherwise. Stroke of luck, I suppose.
I’ve been walking to clear my head. I think I did but I don’t like these new thoughts that have popped up.
Then again, Tim and I’ve been going on holiday together for a decade. Isn’t it telling that I finally take a photo worth writing home about with the two of us out of the picture?
He was a lurker, they weren’t supposed to see him. But it’d been so long since anyone had reacted to his presence, he couldn’t help but wave back. The children smiled and hollered at him.
From that day on, he lurked closer to at the edge of visibility. At first, most hikers didn’t notice. But soon word spread.
He has become an attraction in his own right and he never disappoints his audience. At the first sign of a hand raised in greeting, the waving ghost of the creek fades into view and responds. He’s the local tourist office’s dream.
It’s been a while since my first MFtS catch-up story, hasn’t it? It didn’t turn out the way I wanted, but I’m writing with a massive headache today and that never leads to noteworthy prose.
I know texting you is a violation of the injunction, but I am almost literally on fire. I’m sitting in the bathtub, breathing through a wet washcloth. I called 999; I don’t think they’ll make it in time.
I never apologised. I wonder if I’d apologised, we’d be in this mess. I would still have hit you, though. I wish I hadn’t hit you. You should see me now – anger management has turned me into a new man. I wish you could have seen him.
So, I’m only texting to tell you that you’ve nothing to fear from me anymore.
The humble spoon. It looks innocuous. Some might call it benign.
Some have no imagination.
I don’t have a lot of time for people who pride themselves on their knife skills. Cutting out your victim’s heart with a knife, where’s the artistry in that? Also, a knife takes away the element of surprise. You pull a knife, people scream and fight and beg for their lives before you’ve begun to have any fun.
I get my spoon out, people laugh. They think they’ve been pranked, look for the camera.
The only free spot is by the pool table – less than ideal for a date. Standing comes with pitfalls, though – too close, too far away – so he sits down. Should he have waited outside? The place’s packed, she’ll have trouble finding him.
He is certifiable levels crazy for her. He’s afraid it’ll show. She arrives late, which, in a way, is good. His nerves have settled.
‘My favourite table. How did you know?’
‘I had a hunch.’
‘We’ll have to play, obviously. Let me win and you’re my favourite guy.’
No trouble letting her win – he’s never played pool before.