Gone Troppo

Jack set off for the deli and his paper. It was always the same at this time of year; the air, pregnant with moisture, waiting for her waters to break, ankles swollen, and lumbering with each day.

Everywhere he went, Jack ran into yet another pressure-cooked person, red-faced, puffing, sweating like they’d just come out of a sauna. Jack had lived in this small town all his life, and the build up, just before the wet season, always led to foolishness.

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Thin Blue Line

 

She sat at the laminate table, head in her hands, completely spent. She had cried a lifetime’s quota of tears and there was no moisture left in her. She had become a desert of emotions, devoid of even the ability to smile wanly at her friends’ efforts to amuse her.

The trajectory of her life, this yawning chasm of mediocrity, each day of drudgery more laboured than the next, had drained the colour from her personality and her complexion.

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Winter Wonderland

Mix stretched his arms skyward, extending each vertebra. He opened his lips into a round flat O, scrunched up his eyes, and yawned the yawn of the bone-weary. It had been a very long night.

He looked around pleased with himself. The world was elegant, blanketed in her new downy white coat, wearing her finest crystals, ready for the grand Winter ball.

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The Unbearable Hotness of being (with apologies to Milan Kundera)

The air rolled its warm fat fingers lovingly over Sophia’s lean, supple body, caressing every inch, as she lay on her side on top of the breakfast table. Making herself as flat as possible, she stretched each limb in turn, reaching out until her muscles squealed and shuddered with the ache of effort. She felt as if her very being was melting into the wood beneath her, merging with the table, oozing into one solitary being.

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Indelible

Mathaiamma shuffled away with a troubled mind, one foot dragging sluggishly behind her, her sari pulled across her nose and mouth to stop the choking dust she was kicking up, wisps of white hair escaping the confines of material. Her every movement was laboured now, her body weakened and battered and broken by the grinding civil war.

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