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Writing is an act of faith.
Publishing is an act of optimism.
Inviting comments is an act o
f insanity.
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and tell me what you think...

12/31/2018 0 Comments

Leopard-skin seats

The little boy scuffed his shoes in the gravel at the road edge.
            ‘I’m tired.’
His sister walked on. He kicked a large stone into the grass verge and tried again.
            ‘Stop, Anna. My legs hurt.’
Anna wheeled round.
            ‘You’re a baby. Come on!’
A mutinous look descended.
            ‘No. You’re walking too fast.’
She scowled.
            ‘You’re too slow. Like a tortoise.’
His colour flared at the insult and she thought he was going to run at her in fury but he went back to kicking the stone chippings. Anna waited, arms folded. She was tempted to leave him but even at six she knew she had to be the responsible one. Then she heard a car. Startled, she ran back.
            ‘Mind out. There’s a car coming.’
Anna grabbed his hand as the car drew to a halt beside them. The passenger door opened.
            ‘Hey, kids. Do you want a lift home?’
Anna hung back, uncertain.
            ‘No, thank you.’
The man smiled.
            ‘Your mummy sent me to fetch you.’
He patted the seat invitingly.
            ‘Climb in.’
Anna felt her brother’s fingers slipping from her hand as he stepped towards the open door. Belatedly, she tried to pull him back.
            ‘No, Robert.’
He scowled at her.
            ‘My legs hurt.’
The man nodded.
            ‘Of course they do. Hop in and you’ll both be home in no time.’
Anna did not want to be rude but she did not want to get in the car. Mutely, she shook her head.
            ‘OK, then You don’t need to go anywhere. Just climb in and sit on these lovely leopard-skin seats.’
He patted the front seat, furry and spotted like a leopard. Anna thought it looked beautiful. Robert leaned forward.
            ‘Let’s, Anna.’
Anna watched the man. She did not like the way he looked at her, as if his eyes were burning.
            ‘No.’
The man cast a quick look round and scowled when he saw a tractor approaching. Without a word, he drove away. Anna grabbed Robert’s arm.
            ‘Come on. I’ll race you.’
The children scampered like rabbits towards home.
.
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    Author

    I spent most of my life not realising I was a writer.  I just thought everybody's minds worked like mine.  On some level I had a vague idea that the conversations with people who weren't there might just put me in the crazy category, so I kept quiet.  Besides, the people in my head were usually more interesting which was never going to win me friends out there in the reality sphere.  Fiction has always seemed to offer more interest than the real world and finally I realised - this is how writers think!  Normal people don't have these thoughts.  So, I had the imagination and the crazy thoughts.  The only thing needed to turn me into a writer was to put pen to paper...  Or, in my case, fingers to keypad.  Here goes!

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