a few nights ago, whilst paging through a magazine, i read a letter by ‘struggling to trust’, penned in desperation to an agony aunt column, and she writes—this woman with an ancient question burning in her bones—that she had known a man for a long time, since they were not much more than children, and... Continue Reading →
Flora was a busybody. Nobody at the Garden Club could stand her. Nothing was ever to her standard. Frank had had enough of her griping about his fuchsias. Weeks after she disappeared, even the police were impressed with how they bloomed. 'Aye,' he said, 'new bonemeal.'.
"Right," He said, eyes roving over her with interest, "What can you bring to the marriage?" She looked at him as if he were the only man in the room; to her, he was the very oxygen she needed in order to survive, "I will love you with every fibre of my being. Until I... Continue Reading →