Ellie lights the gas.
She’s worried that her housemates don’t really like her.
They might be out without her now. Drinking, laughing. Flicking fringes from doe eyes. Whispering through loose lips, close to one another’s ears.
In fact, they’re upstairs. Ellie can hear them. But that doesn’t prove much.
Like last week when Stacey broke Ellie’s cup, even though she said she hadn’t used it. Two days later Ellie found the cup back in the cupboard, with the crack removed. So they could be capable of anything.
Ellie leaves and locks the door. She knows they talk about her. Why else would they have implanted the microchip in her head? So they can live in her mind.
She closes her eyes as she lights the match. That way they won’t see her drop it through the letter box.
Jonathan Squirrell would like to be a writer, or to learn how to stop trying. He has published short stories of his own, and reviews the books of others with very little seething envy.
She’s worried that her housemates don’t really like her.
They might be out without her now. Drinking, laughing. Flicking fringes from doe eyes. Whispering through loose lips, close to one another’s ears.
In fact, they’re upstairs. Ellie can hear them. But that doesn’t prove much.
Like last week when Stacey broke Ellie’s cup, even though she said she hadn’t used it. Two days later Ellie found the cup back in the cupboard, with the crack removed. So they could be capable of anything.
Ellie leaves and locks the door. She knows they talk about her. Why else would they have implanted the microchip in her head? So they can live in her mind.
She closes her eyes as she lights the match. That way they won’t see her drop it through the letter box.
Jonathan Squirrell would like to be a writer, or to learn how to stop trying. He has published short stories of his own, and reviews the books of others with very little seething envy.
Wow! that's just about perfect! Bravo.
ReplyDeleteWow!
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