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Authors: Rosen Trevithick
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was lovely to talk about silly, mindless
things and not have to think about sabotaged tyres, vengeful road kill and the
many other things that had occupied my headspace since I’d gotten to Cornwall.
The next thing I knew, I looked at my watch and it was 3am. “I
have to go to bed!”
He looked at me with puppy-dog eyes and forced a frown. He
tilted his beautiful head to one side, and stuck out his bottom lip. It was a
difficult face to say no to.
“Really,” I said firmly. “I have a long day ahead of me.”
“I understand,” he said. Then, he held me firmly, took off
my cap, and kissed me gently on the forehead.
It was perfect.
My first kiss as a single woman. It sent a tingle sprinting
down my spine like a tingle panther.
I took Biff’s hand, squeezed it, and wished him good night. Then
I hurried towards the door. The tingle panther darted all over my back, like
being massaged by an unruly feather duster.
“Dee?” he voiced.
No! Let me go now. Don’t ruin this by adding anything
further.
“Yes?” I asked, without looking back.
“Dee, I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?” I asked, turning to face him.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he told me. “Forget I said anything.”
Chapter 4
I awoke to the sound of a cackle. As I opened my eyes, I
thought I heard clapping but I soon realised it was not hands, but wings
beating together.
Then, it landed — a plump, gigantic white bird with grey
wings. Was it the seagull? I studied it, as it studied me. It didn’t
look as if it had been in an accident. But that glare ... that glare
was unmistakable.
Yet here I was, sitting in bed, watching it. Quickly,
I scrambled out of bed, holding the duvet around me. Why was I hiding to
preserve my dignity? It was a bird! Then, I realised I wasn’t hiding — I was
protecting. That beak looked as though it could slice through diamonds; my body
would be tissue paper to its sharp bill.
I leaped towards the heavy sash window and wrenched it shut.
The bird cackled again. I could swear it was laughing at me. Angrily, I closed
the heavy curtains.
The events of the day before came flooding back, and
suddenly hiding in my room with just a seagull for company didn’t seem like
such a bad idea. I wondered if I should just leave — call a break down service,
get my tyres fixed and go, go as far away from here as I possibly could.
No! I couldn’t think like that. I was an author and that
meant hard work. I needed to get up. I needed to contribute to the anthology. A
short story collection published by the forum could be read by hundreds of people.
It was essential that I took part.
Biff’s face was becoming a regular feature in my mind, like
one of those adverts that’s on during every single commercial break. I
remembered the kiss — almost innocent, but just intimate enough to arouse my
excitement.
I quickly got dressed, deciding to wear my tortoiseshell cap
again. I pulled on some faded jeans and a white t-shirt. Then hurried out onto
the landing.
“Morning!” sang a fluffy, soprano voice. I looked around. Oh
no! It was the sex doll. Her hair was loose and her naturally olive skin had a
pinkish glow. I knew immediately that she’d had sex.
“Morning Annabel,” I said.
She stepped into my path. She held out her fine, size-ten
arm like somebody trying to build a barricade with a twig. Today she was
wearing a pink blouse with at least two buttons removed from the top. “No hard
feelings,” she begged.
“About what?”
“Rafe,” she purred, with a grin from hooped earring to
hooped earring. She quickly added, “I slept with him!”
“Oh, did you?” I asked, with false surprise. I wondered if
she wanted a merit mark.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“The best woman won,” I said, as a means to getting past
her. I was exceptionally hungry and impatient to find out whether there really
were croissants for breakfast. Mmm ... pain au chocolat ...
“We’re still
things and not have to think about sabotaged tyres, vengeful road kill and the
many other things that had occupied my headspace since I’d gotten to Cornwall.
The next thing I knew, I looked at my watch and it was 3am. “I
have to go to bed!”
He looked at me with puppy-dog eyes and forced a frown. He
tilted his beautiful head to one side, and stuck out his bottom lip. It was a
difficult face to say no to.
“Really,” I said firmly. “I have a long day ahead of me.”
“I understand,” he said. Then, he held me firmly, took off
my cap, and kissed me gently on the forehead.
It was perfect.
My first kiss as a single woman. It sent a tingle sprinting
down my spine like a tingle panther.
I took Biff’s hand, squeezed it, and wished him good night. Then
I hurried towards the door. The tingle panther darted all over my back, like
being massaged by an unruly feather duster.
“Dee?” he voiced.
No! Let me go now. Don’t ruin this by adding anything
further.
“Yes?” I asked, without looking back.
“Dee, I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?” I asked, turning to face him.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he told me. “Forget I said anything.”
Chapter 4
I awoke to the sound of a cackle. As I opened my eyes, I
thought I heard clapping but I soon realised it was not hands, but wings
beating together.
Then, it landed — a plump, gigantic white bird with grey
wings. Was it the seagull? I studied it, as it studied me. It didn’t
look as if it had been in an accident. But that glare ... that glare
was unmistakable.
Yet here I was, sitting in bed, watching it. Quickly,
I scrambled out of bed, holding the duvet around me. Why was I hiding to
preserve my dignity? It was a bird! Then, I realised I wasn’t hiding — I was
protecting. That beak looked as though it could slice through diamonds; my body
would be tissue paper to its sharp bill.
I leaped towards the heavy sash window and wrenched it shut.
The bird cackled again. I could swear it was laughing at me. Angrily, I closed
the heavy curtains.
The events of the day before came flooding back, and
suddenly hiding in my room with just a seagull for company didn’t seem like
such a bad idea. I wondered if I should just leave — call a break down service,
get my tyres fixed and go, go as far away from here as I possibly could.
No! I couldn’t think like that. I was an author and that
meant hard work. I needed to get up. I needed to contribute to the anthology. A
short story collection published by the forum could be read by hundreds of people.
It was essential that I took part.
Biff’s face was becoming a regular feature in my mind, like
one of those adverts that’s on during every single commercial break. I
remembered the kiss — almost innocent, but just intimate enough to arouse my
excitement.
I quickly got dressed, deciding to wear my tortoiseshell cap
again. I pulled on some faded jeans and a white t-shirt. Then hurried out onto
the landing.
“Morning!” sang a fluffy, soprano voice. I looked around. Oh
no! It was the sex doll. Her hair was loose and her naturally olive skin had a
pinkish glow. I knew immediately that she’d had sex.
“Morning Annabel,” I said.
She stepped into my path. She held out her fine, size-ten
arm like somebody trying to build a barricade with a twig. Today she was
wearing a pink blouse with at least two buttons removed from the top. “No hard
feelings,” she begged.
“About what?”
“Rafe,” she purred, with a grin from hooped earring to
hooped earring. She quickly added, “I slept with him!”
“Oh, did you?” I asked, with false surprise. I wondered if
she wanted a merit mark.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“The best woman won,” I said, as a means to getting past
her. I was exceptionally hungry and impatient to find out whether there really
were croissants for breakfast. Mmm ... pain au chocolat ...
“We’re still
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