A collection of flash fiction.
A string of daily mundane stories, wreathed with words and a lot of compassion.
[Some of these short stories have been recognised by various literary organisations.]
Hurt shows in his eyes. 'He's an actor', I remind my failing determination again. 'He knows some stuff about screen-craft'.
"Eliza, I'm sorry..." He begins almost desperately.
"Just don't".
I suddenly realize that I'm still wearing his coat. Wriggling out, I shove it into the bin, letting it land gracefully over last night's sushi box.
He's rich enough to buy a Raymond store.
"Please Eliza, I can explain. Those texts...You don't understand!" He rubs his temples.
"Another Hollywood excuse?"
"I just wanted to gain her advantage, not snog her, for God's sake!"
"Wow!"
The mowing lady next door is standing open-mouthed, her sprinkler forgotten.
"I'm not perfect", he sighs and I notice that he's crying. Subduing the urge to hug him, I storm out into the busy street.
"I love you!" he shouts.
"Prove it", I say, without turning back towards the house we had impulse bought together and before I know it, the sunny day has dimmed as I succumb to pain and darkness.
I squint my eyes at the sunbeam as my nostrils fill with disinfectant smell.
"Jesus! Eliza, can you hear me? Should I call the Doc?" I see a man standing beside my bed.
A hospital.
"A car hit you", he supplies, reading me. "Remember?"
I shake my head.
A phone buzz distracts him, and he frowns at the screen before speaking again. "I'm here to prove it."
Fragments come back. Parts of a map.
Cocktails. Dandelions. Proofreading scripts on marble stairs. Kissing.
But whom?
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