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Submitted to Contest #53
Jo Jo is lying on the sofa in a two-day Netflix stupor, lazily scrolling through endless options on her aunt’s larger-than-life TV (seen that, looks crap, could watch that if there’s nothing else, seen that etc. etc.). A fan is directed right at her but, even with all the windows open as wide as they can go, it’s essentially just blowing more hot air at her. Ugh. She looks down at the street four storeys down. With lockdown easing, there are a few more people out and making the most of the heatwave. She longs to join then. It has been two...
Submitted to Contest #52
Charlene tells me it’s normal to think I see him. Sometimes it’s just the way someone walks. Their grey hoody. Or their haircut. For about 30 seconds, my world stops, my heart pounds. Then they turn around. I realise it’s not him, and my surroundings come back into focus. It couldn’t be him anyway, I tell myself. I know it couldn’t be him. Because he’s dead. * Falling in love with Michael was like living my own romcom. We’d caught eyes over a bookshelf in the library. His hazel brown eyes sparkled; his smile twist...
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