Tom was hired to cut the grass. A big man like a skittle, he did the penguin walk when his trousers crutch drooped to his knees. People laughed until they saw his look.
As Harry the grass was cut, he wished it was death he could see in Tom’s eyes.
Flash Fiction learning that the heart of writing is imagination + craft + editing.
What made me spew my coffee wasn’t so much Mavis sitting down and whispering into my ear that she saw Angels. That I could live with. It was what a sixty year old woman way past her sell-by-date was doing with her right hand to my meat and two veg.
The boy stood at the Dancehall. It was in darkness, a sort of blessing as he was listening, not distracted by people.
In the dark the coyote howls. Yet with the wind it's like the dead wailing for a ghost highway.
He waits, the woman not he begins the adventure.