Phone rings.

I’m busy.

Such a nuisance. Two eggs mixed, coffee’s on, butter melting in the pan. The grill’s warming, two slices of bread, ready to go.

A crucial moment. Why does this happen?

Waking drowsy is painful. Torn between the desire to flake or rise, you figure , get up now, gain that time when no-one else’s awake or fluff and sink, blissfully, into a pillow of downy dawn.

But humming A Day in the Life, shower and then breakfast preparations, the minutiae fill the morning void, prepares the mind, ideas forming while butter melts.

Phone rings. Again. Insistent.

‘Hello,’ peevish, ‘yes?’

‘Oh, hello. You’re up? Good.’ Brisk.

Tetchy silence. Muffled sounds of eggs, sizzling on a hot pan, coffee bubbling through a machine.img_4949

‘Write me a story, make it short. Not one of your 50 word thingies, but short, with a twist.’

Click. Line dead. Ham’s in the pan. Toast is on. A sprinkle of cheese. Sip of Sumatra. Omelette ready. Toast ready for butter smear, cutlery, coffee, day’s begun. Slurp.


2 thoughts on “Short Story

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