I wonder what they talk about. Surely they know everything. We do. At least I think I do. Wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t. Keep things interesting. Correction. Restore interesting to things.
Doctors appointment. That’s what they talk about. And birthdays. Grandkids’ ones. Not the kids’. They’re too old for that. Grandkids though. Still at school probably. Some way to go for ours. Mad to think that’s the only reason we got to thirty. The grandkids. Barely walking yet ruling. Bless them. Not their fault we’ve exhausted it all. They won’t go through it. Be all different by then. Lucky them. Twenty will be the new 60. Even fifteen. They’ll get to fifteen and call it what it is: over.
Maybe that’s what’s he keeping back.
Or maybe it’s me. The Stay column is looking lonely. Grandkids need some company in there.
House …
Might change …
Too late …
Sometimes it’s ok …
‘What you writing about?’
‘Nothing … just a list.’
‘Terrible queue in there … said food will be delayed. That okay?’
‘Yeah, that’s fine … gives me longer to finish this.’
‘Must be a big list.’
‘Not really … nearly done.’
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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