STORIES ON THE BACK OF A POSTCARD…
Clara Drummond
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Eyes scrupulously fixed on the trough below, Geoff watched the loose arc of his last Pimm’s frothing away between the deodorizers. Like little citric ping-pong balls he thought, or peeled apples. Many were pissworn to mere coins or lozenges. You can’t take it with you!
Checking his fly as he blinked out from under the eaves’ shade, Geoff tried to imagine how much ice creams would cost now, thinking he’d pick up a couple of 99s for the girls on the way back. But patting and uselessly double-patting his pockets, he found no wallet. Had he brought it? Thinking, he squinted into the hash of half-shredded posters stapled on the toilet’s outer wall.
Rob Gallagher
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Life is too short, apparently, to clean out the boot of your car. It’s not like Keith didn’t get the chance. He’d been turning down the volume for a while. His wife, Susan’s mother, had life in her yet but had stubbornly refused to learn to drive; instead of her wedding bands changing hands a car had to be sold.
Susan didn’t look at the dates as she peeled back the dank wads of newspaper that sealed in the spare tyre, just like Susan would have burnt his unwashed pants if they hadn’t already been dealt with – starched and pressed. They would definitely get more for it if they sold her with it, Susan thought. Six months MOT and diamonds included.
Amy McLeod
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The Walls sign, to be fair, is misleading. Cyclists, pedalling against oncoming cloud, are unlikely to notice its spattering of rust, as if from a roadside accident, and occasionally one or two will dismount and approach the old post office, holding phones up for signal. The last postmaster had moved down from Glasgow, all blue sky thinking. Like a string of predecessors, he dreamt of a new life for himself and the place, this time transforming the shop as an online business. Few in the valley have broadband now; no-one did in the 90s.
Dorothy Feaver
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Clara Drummond
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Do you have a story for the back of this postcard? In response to the header image please send your 100 words to dorothy@murdofleur.org
Blue man in newspaper cape biffed by miniature fist