Dropped cake spoils her party dress. Her mum won’t wipe it, nor heed her tears. “Let her learn disappointment,” she says, lost in a memory.
©2011, Gayle Beveridge
He thrashed his brother for his lollies; the spoils of war. Hiding in his room he gulped them all, the resultant stomach ache, a spoiler.
©2011, Gayle Beveridge
“Wait,” his breath is on her face like a rasp, “Oil will make us rich, we’ll not share it’s discovery,” but his love gone, she is poor now.
©2011, Gayle Beveridge
The police hunt for them had picked up pace. He was panicking. “We need an exit strategy.” She sighed and shot him, she so hated whingers.
©2011, Gayle Beveridge
There he is; he’s come to the party after all. “John,” she calls, “over here.” On hearing her voice, he hastily exits through the back door.
© 2011, Gayle Beveridge
PicFic 