Freya bought the mirror at the flea market, having been assured by the vendor that it would reflect her future.
A first, it showed her a battered and beaten old shed. But as her life progressed and she made smart choice after smart choice, the mirror’s reflection changed. The roof was patched up. The door was painted. Pretty curtains were installed in its windows.
Continue reading “Future | Microfiction”
“I didn’t know you played piano,” she said, eyeing the ramshackle home music studio.
He shrugged. “I dabble.”
“Play something?” Continue reading “Sound Investment | Microfiction”
The bird turned up at 7.35pm sharp, every single day since her grandmother had died. It perched on the window ledge, gazing through the glass at her with inquisitive eyes as she washed the dishes.
Perhaps it just wanted some company, she thought. She didn’t mind that; she could use some company herself. Her evenings had been quiet since she stopped getting her grandmother’s daily calls. Continue reading “Company | Microfiction”
‘What are you doing, Grandad?’
‘I see that. Why?’
‘Goin’ to China.’ Continue reading “Diggin’ | Microfiction”