Wheelbarrow
He was ready for the rub. Tense. She could always tell. The legs, the shuffles. He had to be frantic before he would come to her, his own wife. Vanity, fright. She could read him like a book open on the table, turn his pages the way a fish flakes. "It's comfort night, sweetie," she called. He was practically glowing. "Your wish is my demand."
|
4
favs |
1040 views
8 comments |
66 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
This is another of the micros I've written from prompt words provided by Meg Pokrass at Facebook. One has run in Blip and 6 others have been accepted at JMWW.
Other stories by Cooper Renner
Tags
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
The opening of this piece is very complex. I read it many times. The relationship is strange and hell and we can see the twisting of it right off.
He was practically glowing. "Your wish is my demand."
In this tiny piece, so much. Am honored that you've used the words and brought them alive
Great read, Cooper. Enjoyed.
Thanks to you both.
Meg, this piece would never have existed without the goading of your prompts!
So much depends upon... what? "'It's comfort night, sweetie,' she called." Yikes!
*
Thanks, Sam, Jack. Meg's prompts open up my psyche in really odd ways. They're essential.
It's what's going on beneath the surface that's so fascinating. "Your wish is my demand." Yikes is right. *
A lot in a short space. Happy to * this.
Thanks, Tina, James. Glad you like it.