‘Haven’t seen him before. Must be new.’
My friend says nothing.
‘He looks nice.’
Still nothing.
‘Not as nice as the other one. We like him, don’t we?’
Again, nothing.
‘Do you remember when he gave you his scarf? You loved that scarf. You looked so handsome.’
My friend sighed. Well, it was more breathing out loudly than normal breathing out.
‘I’m still sad about it. They shouldn’t have taken it. Arseholes … they’re all arseholes!’
The new man glanced my way. I smile back.
‘A dramatic masterpiece … that’s what they’re saying …Five stars.’
My friend didn’t care.
‘I bet there’s no songs in it. You can’t have a play without songs … it’s not a play if it hasn’t got songs. Why would you pay to see something without songs?’
No response.
‘Do you think he’d let us in if I asked? We could sit at the back. No-one would see us. Should I ask him?’
My friend looked up at me and closed their eyes.
‘You’re right … what’s the point? He won’t let us in … no-one will.’
This fictional short story was written for a 50 Day Project organised by the artist Amanda Billing. I get 45 minutes to an hour (not the project’s rules, it’s just about the time I have right now) to write a story, sometime between 4.30am and 5.30am. After that, the day is no longer mine.
N.B. The sketch image for this short story was created using AI (at best, I can draw a half-decent stick man). The words are all mine.
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