Hello dear friends – it has been a while!

I recently entered another competition at the weekend and having frantically opened the e-mail confirming whether I won or not, I’m extremely happy to announce that I didn’t.

No really, I’m happy – I got a nice précis comment and I can share it with you good people – the publishing embargo is off, so let the storytelling commence!

Feel free to leave me a comment because this kind of thing fires me up faster than a firework up the proverbial.

Thank you for all of your support and happy reading.

Dodging The Issue (by David Ellis)

It’s drizzling outside. A window is open and the breeze wafts in to smother me with the scent, not of a woman at all, not today, which is unusual to say the least. The clammy air tastes of dog. Funny that because I own a cat. There is a note on the wall.

Someone is trying to tell me something. A conundrum. Bringing to my attention this hum-drum existence and how I deal with this before it gets cold.

Why did I take this job? All those friends that I lost. They said the money would be good. Money can rent happiness for a while but only if you put it to good use.

My fingers hurt. Sterlize them in this whiskey. Not like I am going anywhere. Not this time. How are you supposed to learn a lesson when the only lesson to learn is that charity begins at home. That’s hardly a puzzle that needs its own section in the Sunday paper.

And yet. Still. I’m unsure why. Why it happened. Forgive me, I’m all over the shop. She was too. Biting and snarling and slapping, like the devil possessed.

Bargaining chips don’t come easy in an oppressive relationship. They float towards you and you grab whatever you can lay your hands on.

I think I’ll sit here quietly now. Peaceful, serene. Sit on my hands until they go numb. Although I can’t really feel anything now. It’s been that way for a long time now. Long before we even got together.

I remember how we used to laugh and reminisce. It’s all a big, swirly whirlpool now. She did leave me with something though. A little present to complement all the whiskey and tears. Her note.

I always used to tell her that her penmanship was atrocious but that usually fell on deaf ears. Now it’s the thing that I treasure the most dear about her. I often used to tell her – if you write a thank you note that is crafted elegantly, you will make a deeper impression.

I turned her note over again and again but nothing more could be found.

Because in the end she wrote “Thanks for nothing.”

I gave her everything, my heart, soul and being. I just couldn’t give her children. They would have expected something in return.

And that’s hardly a puzzle worth considering.