“Put the cat out… feed the goldfish… dig the garden… tidy the tool-shed …”
And so it went on, like the endless drip, drip of a rusty tap.
But now the cat’s left home, and the goldfish float lifeless on the surface of the murky fish-tank.
The garden, however, is freshly dug, and the tool-shed immaculate.
Every spanner, every screwdriver hangs in order of descending size. Only one space remains – the one for the ten inch cross-head screwdriver.
He could retrieve the missing tool … restore symmetry.
But remembering the scene she’d made when he drove it into her neck, he’s disinclined to bother.
If you had to be trapped somewhere in rising floodwater, Sod’s Law would have it that it would be somewhere with a slow and intermittent internet connection. So be it… have patience with me, I’ll get back to you when I can. Rochelle is having a break this week, but since I have little else to do, I decided to submit something new for this prompt. It’s quicker than trying to locate the piece I did for this Friday Fictioneers’ prompt last time. 😦