Her words reverberated through the emptiness of the apartment. What was there? Mattress. Kettle. A souring carton of milk. Some drying stems of lavender on the window sill.
"I love this T-shirt. Can I borrow it?"
'Love' took a distinct slot in the meaning chain of her vocabulary. Love meant want and want was never a passive word with her.
Everything cool I owned was either borrowed or stolen, but facing the pure onslaught of her 'love', I suddenly understood why magpies built their nests high in the branches.
Was this how magpies mated? I shrugged. "Whatever."
(this story was specifically created as a writing exercise for a meeting with the Adamastor Writer's Guild, on the subject of drabbles, which are, for those who don't know, a story that is exactly 100 words long. You can check out Cat Hellisen's drabble for the same meeting here. )