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Closing down

COUNTING SHEEP

Humans…they sure love to count things. Right now, the one who owns this teashop is counting down til the day he can leave. The For Sale sign is up, so we’re just waiting for takers. He needs a ‘cash buyer’. I need a quiet kid to slip me into their pocket.

Just me.

I don’t care if they leave the pig. He grunt-snores every night, keeping me awake, until I have to count stupid, coloured beads, sliding them back and forth. Clink, clink.

No.

I want a quiet kid, with a soft pillow, so I can sleep like a cloud.

OUT FOR THE COUNT

Officially, I checked out this summer. But I’ll move on fully when I’ve finished this book. I can suck in about a page a day, through my own papery wings. Oooooh… it’s chilling. ‘A Common Murder’. Murder in a peace camp. Ooooooh. Ooooooh.

It’s not basking in the sun, wings open, on a delicate flower.

That was life.

This is death.

Laid out on a mystery. A mystery book. What a thrill. I need to make it to the end. I need to know who the murderer is. I need to know.

And once I know…

What then?

What then?

THERE’S STILL TIME

I don’t care what anybody says, there’s still time for us. Our legs may be dusty, but we still stand strong.

I stand the strongest, as I never lose sight, lose sense, of the fact that there are three of us. And only two of them…

Two stands, still stocked with cards, who might roll over and ask us to dance.

One is half dressed with leftover Valentine’s Day cards, looking fine and pretty in pink.

The other is pockets stuffed with Birthday cards – balloons, cakes, cars, trains, dogs, cats, kittens.

I’d take either for a twirl.

A Last Waltz.

THE CLOCK HAS STOPPED

My hands have stopped. Ten to ten. Ten to ten. It’s ten to ten…every minute of the day.

I’ve been here since the day that Libby wrestled me out of the box and said, “Now that is a honker of a clock. Why d’you get such a big one?”

“Big is best. You want small, get a watch,” Alfred said.

Tick tock, tick tock. That made a lot of sense.

Now Libby is gone. And Alfred is shutting up a shop.

Ten to ten. Ten to ten. It’s not time to leave yet.

Sheep. Butterfly. Book. Stands. I see you.

Week 32

I have been thinking about writing some micro stories, from the perspective of different objects. Then today I had an hour to kill while I was waiting for my dog to get his haircut. I wanted to find somewhere comfier to write than in the car, so I drove on to the nearest village and found a wonderfully odd little store-come-teashop that was closing down. I was entranced by so many of the objects in there, but ended up picking out four, and writing their stories in exactly 100 words each.

I’ll share a few more pics here in case you want to write your own! Someone has to do it!!!! 😊We can’t leave them story-less.

PS The objects are real. The clock had actually stopped – I took the picture at about 11:30am. But names are made up, and I don’t know why the owner was really selling.

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