The Loaf

The bread's gone missing. When it's not sitting on the acacia board, waiting for action, it's chilling on the middle shelf of the fridge, in its very own drawstring 'fresher for longer' linen bag, super-seeded, with several slices left. ¬†But it isn't. I don't remember finishing it or throwing bits of it to the birds… Continue reading The Loaf

The Room

The door is open, but I am afraid to pass through it. Painted white, it belongs to a room on the fifth floor at the end of a long corridor. Inside, the patient's name is written on the wall behind the metal bed. There's a TV suspended above the blanket. A private bathroom and toilet.… Continue reading The Room