Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“You need to stop killing people,” sighed Yuffie. “It’ll come back to haunt you.”
“I know,” sighed Lucy.
“I never heard from Jane again,” sighed Yuffie. “I’ll assume you had something to do with that.”
“Yes,” said Lucy, “I turned her into an empty grinning pumpkin. Not even a candle inside.”
“Lucy!” gasped Yuffie.
“Yes,” replied Lucy. “I’ll admit, that was a hollow gesture.”
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“What about the French woman?” asked Yuffie.
“Francois?” replied Lucy.
“That’s the one,” said Yuffie.
“I killed her with numbers,” replied Lucy.
“How does that work?” asked Yuffie.
“She had a huit allergy,” grinned Lucy.
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“How about Joanna?” asked Yuffie. “Did you end her life too?”
“No,” replied Lucy. “I left her alone.”
“Are you still angry with her?” asked Yuffie.
“No,” sighed Lucy. “I am long past her burning my Stephen King books.”
“Good,” said Yuffie. “It’s bad to Carrie a grudge.”
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“Hello Lucy,” said Yuffie, taking a seat and offering a drink.
Lucy grasped the rum between three slender fingers. “Yuffie. Been a while.”
“You’ve been busy,” said Yuffie. “I heard Amy died in an incident with a gang of crows.”
“A murder,” grinned Lucy.
“Really? Ornithology puns?” sighed Yuffie.
“She was judged and sentenced by twelve ravens,” said Lucy.
“That’s a tad unfair,” replied Yuffie.
“Unfair,” laughed Lucy. “She had her day in court.”
Yuffie winced.
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A spiral of smoke drifted in, bringing a sense of dread into the bar. The trio watched as it moved to the darkest corner of the room and solidified into a red-eyed, spectral figure.
Yuffie let out a long deep sigh. “Two black rums please, Reala.”
Reala poured them with a sense of urgency. Yuffie took them over to the stranger.
“Ex-wife,” said Fuen.
Shivers ran down Fuen and Reala’s spines.
“I remember your eighteenth wedding,” chuckled Fuen.
“Eighteen,” gasped Reala. “Do your relationships came to a comfortable end?”
“A few bad break-ups,” said Yuffie.
“Bad ones?” asked Reala.
Yuffie shrugged. “A couple. I’m long past them though. I know to move on from bad breakups. They’re like broken mirrors.”
“How so?” asked Reala.
“Sometimes,” said Yuffie, “it’s best to leave it alone rather than hurt yourself picking up the pieces.”
“The second wedding was a disaster,” sighed Yuffie.
“How come?” asked Reala.
“Well,” pushed in Fuen, “you know Yuffie’s tried a few sports right?”
“Yes,” replied Reala.
“Well, she thought it would be a good idea to throw her ball into the crowd instead of a bouquet. Like they do at the end of football and tennis matches, you know?” said Fuen.
“Right,” said Reala.
“That’s not a good idea when your current sport is ten-pin bowling,” sighed Yuffie.
“I remember your first wedding,” said Fuen.
“That was a good one,” said Yuffie.
“You asked me to be chief Usher,” smiled Fuen.
“Oh really?” asked Reala. “Did you take the position.”
“Kind of,” said Fuen. “I learned a few of his songs, but there was no way I was performing the dance moves.”
“My missus is an awful cook,” sighed Yuffie.
“How come?” asked Fuen.
“Well,” started Yuffie, “I left her to bake a few piles of dough the other day. I’d separated everything into different bread types. All she had to do was put it in the oven for various lengths of time. She burned the lot.”
“Oh dear,” said Reala.
“Mmmhmm,” motioned Yuffie. “When I saw there was naan left, I entered a pitta dispair.”
“I remember when my last wife had a kid,” pondered Fuen, ruffling her feathers.
“Oh aye?” asked Reala.
“Yeah,” said Fuen. “I remember calling the doctor and asking what we should do. The doctor asked if this was her first child…”
“And?” pressed Yuffie.
“I said no,” continued Fuen, “I was her wife…”
Little Fears 