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  • Strawberries.

    The small man hid behind the Sunday newspaper, through the open window the smells of summer merged with the tang of furniture polish. He stole a glance to his right. She had never been beautiful; once perhaps a plain face on a passable figure, but her waist had long ago surrendered to the fat rolls which now supported her fallen breasts.
    He allowed his mind to retreat over the years, had there ever been a shared love, an engulfing passion of minds and limbs? He shook his head. Mabel had submitted to sex begrudgingly as a wifely obligation, later to be dispensed in return for favours, now gone forever over the passing years. She preferred to loose herself in the world of women's romance literature where impossible lovers pursued demure virgins without the uncomfortable mechanics of a sexual union.

    The front door slammed, Sharon, the unwanted product of their marriage, ran up the stairs laughing into her cell phone. He counted to four to himself then, a wail of a clich├ęd love song floating on a sea of decibels, assorted his ears
    Mabel reached for the remote and helped herself to another comfort chocolate. Three o'clock, time for the repeat of last weeks Soap. God woman why? You watch it every damn night.
    He stood up folded the newspaper, placed it on the coffee table and opened the back door to escape to the peace of the garden.
    Mabel called out to him with an afterthought, "If there are any strawberries left, pick some for tea." He sighed; I don't even have a name now.
    The greenhouse stood at the end of the garden the glass roof shaded from the summer heat. He smiled at the seed trays neatly arranged on the benches and turned to the potted strawberry plants to his right. They had done really well this year, good pickings and more to come. He took a bowl from the shelf and filled it with soft red fruit.
    As he straightened, a small jar on the top shelf caught his eye. He looked thoughtfully at the tiny white crystals. Mabel and her daughter love their strawberries covered with sugar. He allowed himself a quiet smile, took down the jar and unscrewed the lid.

  • #2
    I feel a dun, dun, dun (ominous notes of impending evil) coming on. Nicely written.

    Wondering in P3 about use of "assorted"? Sounds a bit off to my ear.