Summer Drabbles
#49 Crab
July, 1879.
Although the blank, blind glare of the sun has long since slipped behind the lid of the horizon, the sand beneath her still feels warm. She lets handfuls slip through her fingers, tick-tick-tock. Someone’s hourglass shall run out tonight.
Daddy, massive, lounges alongside her.
A pale white crab scuttles over, flecked with surf and ( Read more... )
July, 1879.
Although the blank, blind glare of the sun has long since slipped behind the lid of the horizon, the sand beneath her still feels warm. She lets handfuls slip through her fingers, tick-tick-tock. Someone’s hourglass shall run out tonight.
Daddy, massive, lounges alongside her.
A pale white crab scuttles over, flecked with surf and ( Read more... )
Comments 2
The treacherous clouds, sullen and iron-grey when he set out, have parted like the sea before the Isrealites. Now Angelus has to flatten best he can against filthy, rough, bricks or risk charring his Saville Row frock coat.
An Aurelian never adopts true face in public. Angelus bites back a snarl. His watch face reads 11:15. Fantastic. Possibly five hours to wait in a stable, ingloriously betrayed by meteorology.
Well, it could be worse. He can relax. Think. Plan.
He stiffens at the bulge in his coat pocket, the curious purr. Ghost-kittens go where they please.
Reply
“It’s America, luv. People use pushchairs. Besides, it’s not 1902.”
“The baby needs a pram.”
“Dru, these things cost a flipping arm and leg! Five thousand quid-that’s more than I collected-“
He looked over, saw her looking so sweet and earnest.
He sighed. “All right, all right. Do your thing here, and I’ll order it.”
Dru kissed his cheek, then scrambled out of the DeSoto to enthrall the Babies R Us clerk. Spike rolled his eyes, and googled Silver Cross prams.
Reply
Leave a comment