Short Stories, Writing

Conversations over hummus

 I know for certain I will never win the Grand National, and I don’t know why, but it is a certainty I feel in my bones. Money will not come my way by chance, there will be graft involved, and punishment and sacrifice and pain and trips to Asda and Aldi, and coveting my neighbours shoes, ass and collection of blazers. Time is relative because a sleepless night stretches on forever, the power you can exert at 2am when you feel as though you’re the only one left alive. Maybe you could be a vigilante? Email the person you are shouting at in your head and tell them how you really feel, how you always felt. The best plans are made between 4am and 6am. The seconds between your hand leaving another’s for a while, a long while, that is a snap. It’s a replay rather then an experience and you can stretch it out over and over again. Exercise. Sometimes it never ends. Continue reading “Conversations over hummus”