The postman brings a parcel. But it is not for me: it’s for my son. Some computer part, I think. I wasn’t expecting a parcel but all the same, I feel bad that it’s not mine. I would have liked a surprise. Things have been so predictable lately.
“I haven’t seen you lately,” I say.
“I’ve been ill,” the postman says.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Read more …
Tags: Bronwyn Griffiths, fiction, short story, writing
Posted in Stories | No Comments »
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