Tag: short story

“I feel like you’ve known me for a longer time than I’ve known you,” remarked Meria.

“Your feelings are probably right,” chuckled Lucy. “I saw you a few years ago. In a pub like this one. You were with James, grinning ear to ear.”

“I’d just seen him spike my drink,” sighed Meria. “I knew if I could swap our glasses, I could save myself some chloroform.”

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“I don’t think you’d break up with your missus over a silly argument,” remarked Meria.

“Oh, we haven’t broken up,” replied Lucy. “It’s just my partner said she enjoys sex more when she’s on holiday.”

“Ah, right,” said Meria.

“I’m telling you,” said Lucy, “that was an awkward postcard to receive.”

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“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?” asked Meria.

“Fallout with the missus, you know how it is,” replied Lucy.

“What’s the problem?” asked Meria.

“She was having a fit over my terrible direction sense,” grumbled Lucy. “So I packed my bags and right.”

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“You know,” said Meria, swiping through her phone. “You’re the spitting image of a woman I once knew called Mabel.”

Lucy peered at the picture on Meria’s phone. “Damn, you’re right.”

“She could be your twin,” pondered Meria.

“She could be,” sighed Lucy. A little peeved that she had another one to track down and kill.

For those subscribed by email, yup, this did appear yesterday. While scheduling this post, I was presented with a big red banner on WordPress that said there was an error scheduling. Then, doh, it was live on my site. Sorry to everyone on email for the double mail.

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“Where have you been?” asked Meria as Lucy slipped back into the pub.

“I popped across an island to see a well-reputed psychic,” replied Lucy.

“Oh, aye?” asked Meria. “Did she read your fortune?”

“No,” sighed Lucy. “I knocked on her door and she yelled, “who is it?” So I left.”

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“How did you die?” asked Jelly.

“I got too cold,” sighed Cuttle.

“Your obituary said you died of hyperthermia while trekking across the Antartic with a paint company for charity,” recalled Parrotfish.

“That’s right,” sighed Cuttle. “I needed a second coat.”

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“Someone stole my coral-mower last year,” grumbled Parrotfish.

“I remember that,” replied Jelly. “The police knocked on my door and asked where I was between 5 and 7.”

“Oh, aye?” asked Parrotfish. “Where were you between 5 and 7?”

“Well,” pondered Jelly, “at school I imagine.”

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“Has your home ever been broken into?” asked Jelly.

“A couple of times,” replied Parrotfish.

“I remember when my home was burgled,” sighed Jelly. “They took my limbo stick.”

“Urgh,” replied Parrotfish. “How low can thieves go?”

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“Ignore Cuttle,” said Jelly. “She has no love for anyone.”

“It’s not entirely her fault,” replied Parrotfish. “She hasn’t been the same since she found four intruders in her home.”

“Oh, dear,” said Jelly. “What happened?”

“They walked right through her,” sighed Parrotfish. “Then put their groceries on the table.”

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“Is that another Sprite?” asked Cuttle.

“I think so,” sighed Parrotfish. “It’s depressing. They pass on so fast. They barely have time to figure out who they are.”

“I don’t care,” replied Cuttle. “When I was young, my mum said I could be anyone I wanted.”

“Isn’t that called identity theft?” asked Parrotfish.

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