The clear plastic umbrella lay broken on the side of the road. Twisted and forlorn. It looked so sad. Unloved.
And, it wasn’t exactly keeping the rain off any more; cold rain that drove in at an angle.
Never mind, it’s not mine, I thought, as the bus pulled away.
One day, Sophie stepped through a door into a green meadow beside a village. The door vanished behind her.
“What do I do now?” she asked the sky.
“Find another door,” a voice on the wind replied.
Well, the door to the local pub seemed a good place to start.
We swim, we eat. There’s not much more to being a goldfish.
Outside the tank we see the humans stroking their pet cat. When those warm blooded hands dip into the tank to clean the glass, we brush against them and wish that, just once, we could be petted too.
Two leaves fell from opposite sides of a tree. As they drifted to the ground, independent and free, a wind swirled them together.
They danced and spun and twirled around each other.
But, before they reached the ground, another gust blew them apart.
They would never forget those moments together.
There by a bush on the dimly lit pavement, a dark brown shape. Slender and smooth, it glistens.
As I creep closer the size becomes clear; as long as my foot and fat like a sausage.
The most enormous slug in the world! Then revealed as an elderly, squishy banana.