His Last Words

I won’t be a minute”, he said, slamming the front door.

By 11pm she’d called the police, having exhausted all possibilities. They searched. Nothing.

His credit card untouched for the next four years before expiring.

They’d been so happy, she thought, but she’d never escape those (now) ambiguous last words.

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The Notes

She never thought she’d understand the notes; cried for months before trying. He’d bequeathed the apartment, funds, (even land), but 21 notes (handwrapped) remained unexplained. He’d loved her, she knew that. But here came emptiness. Years passed before she heard Vera Lynn sing the inimitable. And those notes rang out.

A Grand Plan – Part 18 (Benefits)

“Essentially trying to hone what might be 100,000 word novels into 50 word epigrams, trying different genres, playing with form , conceit, experimenting with…are we connecting here?…you seem to have glazed over somewhat.”

“I’m afraid, if you haven’t found a genuine job within a fortnight we’re suspending your benefits.”

In a Sentence

“I don’t like you…”  he says and she is pummeled and pricked by honesty, rolling one hundred miles an hour back through their last year, re-evaluating every touch, every flicker of attraction, wondering how the hell she could have misinterpreted her instincts so badly and almost flees, “…I love you.”