I pull a sickie, watch the others march away, swinging their lunchboxes, chanting the team song. I peel rough-skinned russets for our live-in carer, roll pastry pencils for her delicate latticework, try to untie my tongue in the cinnamon air while the pie turns golden. I want to tell her I love her, with her kindness, her porcelain cheeks and raven hair, though she’s probably guessed. When the crone knocks, I want to shout ‘Touch nothing! We have apples a-plenty!’ but I know how this story must go, like I know I’ll always be bashful, will never be anyone’s prince.
Chris Cottom lives near Macclesfield, UK, and once wrote insurance words. His winning entry in the Off the Rails 3 Minute Story Competition was read aloud to passengers on the Esk Valley Railway between Middlesbrough and Whitby. In the early 1970s he lived next door to JRR Tolkien.
chriscottom.wixsite.com/chriscottom
Lovely, Chris.
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