Walking home, shadowy light makes passersby take on your features. Entering the shop, I think I see you reflected in its window. I turn but you are gone.
I buy one forlorn lamb chop for tea.
'Is that all?'
I dig a fingernail into the fleshy part of my thumb.
Outside, the early evening breeze ruffles fallen leaves, catches a downy white feather and drops it at my feet.
I almost resist picking it up.
Home now, I feel the comfort of your weight against me as I open my front door.
The hallway is filled with small white feathers.
JULIE GOODE is an Executive Assistant and trained ballet teacher. When she's not working, she's reading anything she can get her hands on; if she's not reading, she's writing flash fiction. She's fascinated by flash fiction and creating capsule stories; like ballet technique, somehow the discipline allows you to be more creative and free.
