The Peacock’s Daughter

Music surges through the speakers. Salt-N-Pepa tell us to push it, and I survey the sea of shocked faces. Not really funeral fare, Mum.

‘No sombre music, Gillian.’

Yes, Mum. No sombre music. But you could have at least let me warn folks.

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Hooray! It’s the 1st of April and this is not an April Fool’s joke. April’s an important month in my world.

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The Path to Paradise

On the corner of the block, at the meeting of two streets, at the end of the lane lived Veronica and Dorothy. Non and Dor, as they were known to everyone in the neighbourhood, were two delightful older women who shared a home. They’d been friends for most of their lives, and when Non’s husband died, Dor moved into her house for company.

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Arse over tea-kettle, and over I went. Legs swept from under me, roller skating mid-air like Wyle E. Coyote caught off a cliff, then down with a wallop.

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Alma Mater

This week Godzilla, my eldest child, began at university.

The same university that my husband and I went to.

The same university my brothers and my brother-in-law went to.

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Old Town Vet

A steady breeze blew through the deserted streets of Old Town lifting dust and debris into a ghoulish danse macabre. The blades of the old windmill whined their arc through the air, the rusted metal cogs and gears screeching in protest.

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So long, goodbye, farewell.

Sunita tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. If only she could tuck her scattered emotions so neatly away. This was the first time she’d been alone since Rajiv’s Commanding Officer had called. The C.O. had spoken quietly, calmly. She wondered what it was about death that forced a stillness on everything. Read More

Teaching the Youngest to Drive: An Incomplete List

Driving school lessons completed: 6
Vehicle: manual transmission (stick shift), dual control

Driving school lessons remaining: 4
Vehicle: manual, dual control Read More

Don’t Pea the Bed

John re-read the note, wondering if he’d overstepped.

Thanks for the hospitality.

I had a hard time sleeping, so I did some investigating. Lo and behold! I found a dried chickpea under my mattress.

I can’t believe you tested me!


P.S. Calling yourself a real “Prince” is creepy.

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Shanti wound her window down and inhaled the fumes. She loved these late-night gas station runs with Appa. It was their time together. No Amma worrying over money, or which Aunty had insulted her this week. No Anna, pretending to be older than his years, trying to impress Appa by discussing politics like a good son, or whether the stock market was a pig or a cow; some animal Shanti couldn’t remember. It was just her and Appa, an exclusive event.

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