Worthing Flash

Plausible Deniability The problem with being sick, she thought, is that everyone wants to take care of you but no one wants to indulge you, and what is the point of being cared for when what one requires most when one is sick is indulgence? She was tired of the flu, so she got out of bed. Her best tactic in dealing with illness, the last weapon against disease in her arsenal, was denial. She would not be sick. She fed the dog, washed the linens, showered and dressed, ate, got Dad’s coffee, emptied the dishwasher, caught up on emails, rescheduled Hugo and Shawna and Mac, asked Brenda and Rita to take the lead in the Zoom presentation tomorrow, which she would attend but would let her voice excuse her from leading. She graded all the papers. Then she woke Kat and told them they would be going to get Kat’s hair done as planned. Kat dutifully showered and dressed, but then they said, “I can drive myself. You look like you still need to rest.” “Nonsense,” she answered, “But if you ...

Welcome to the castle, pour a coffee, take a seat, Everyone’s suspicious, and most have got cold feet Traitor’s in the turret, hooded drama all the way Murder comes at midnight, so it’s a normal day   There’s a shield, and there’s a dagger, there’s a whisper in the hall Someone swore on grannies life, they’re a Faithful after all “I’m 100%, faithful” they say with nervous laugh, Which is exactly how we know, they’re planning traitorous stuff   Ok now let the game begin, I’ll go with her, you go with him Who’s a Traitor? Who’s a friend? We’ll decide and then pretend Were we right then from the start, has paranoia played its part? Pass the blame, and act dismayed, swear you knew, but were betrayed   Round table starts the evening, so cue dramatic pause Then someone clears their throat, like they’re defending a great cause “I don’t have any proof,” they say, “but I’ll say it anyway” “I just a got that feeling when you breathed in that stra...

The End 'Apocalypse Now?' 'His favourite film.' 'Really? But it's so damn long.' A strangled laugh escapes from his lips. 'Fasten your seatbelt,' he says. 'OK.’ He looks at her. 'Oh shit.' It's all he can think of to say. 'He was pissed up. As usual.' He stares down at his hands, then runs them grasping through his hair. He thinks of her hands, how they move over his yielding flesh. Then, earlier – before he got here. Jesus. He covers his open mouth with his hand and mutters through it. 'I never meant it to be taken seriously. I never thought…not for one moment, y’know?' 'Right.' 'I couldn't. She…' 'Yes?' 'You don’t understand.' 'Oh, I do. Perfectly.' He grips the steering wheel with both hands until his knuckles turn white. In silence he watches a petite tortoiseshell cat trot across the road, mouse in its jaws. It leaps onto a wall ...