The Writer

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The Writer:

Like a fat bird on a skinny branch, the story idea held a tenuous grasp on my mind. One big bounce, a winged maelstrom, and it was gone. “Think think think.” I tapped my forehead three times in beat with the word. “What was that about? Oh! I remember…”

The Story:

Mary woke suddenly to three loud knocks on her apartment door.
“Coming!” Her lips felt puffy as the words were squeezed out of her toothpaste-tube-mouth. She swung her legs over the side of the bed into what she thought were her slippers, shuffled to the door, and opened it to Jessica, whose eyes darted between Mary’s face and feet. “Are those comfortable?” Jessica asked, a note of concern in her voice. “Oh,’ Mary said, “I’ve got his shoes.” Jessica chuckled, and as out of it as Mary was, she got the joke. “No, smarty pants. Not ‘issues,’ HIS shoes.” Jessica smiled and shook her head slowly. “Sweetie, you’ve got both. Let’s get you dressed and we’ll go get some coffee.”

To be continued

© Joel Tipple

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