With any spare time, glasses on and pen in hand, I’m either reading or writing short fiction stories. Hoping to publish on real paper in the not too distant future, here's a couple for you to mull over. Contact me with comments.
I see dad every other Sunday, but today he reached an all time low. How could he bring me to the Wetlands Centre with all these frigging birds? He's getting more desperate for places where we don't have to talk. He usually asks me to go for a pizza afterwards, but I always refuse. What would we say?
I tried to get out of it, but mum insisted – she was seeing that creep again. Dad kept pointing out ducks and swans – like I couldn't spot them myself? I played games on my new iPhone – typical he didn't even notice.
Duncan’s arms were folded, he wouldn't look me in the eye and tapped his feet impatiently under the desk. His secretary breezed into his office with cups of coffee, smiling nervously, then quickly left, shutting the door. It was like sitting in a goldfish bowl. Duncan's sales team were in the outer office hanging on the phone or typing furiously on the computer.
"Is this going to take long?" he said sighing, looking at his watch. His expression was deadpan.