We jump the train, swig cans by the sea. A burnished drawbridge. A sinking sun. I joke there must be thousands of suns, all huddling beneath the horizon. You tell me I’m talking nonsense.
Our first flat. We smoke on the fire-escape, call it our balcony. You steal marigolds but we don’t have soil. Each time we smoke there’s little heads shrivelling, until I can’t look anymore.
The core of molten lava in a volcano is 2000 degrees Fahrenheit. Nothing can live there because when it explodes, lava destroys everything in its path.
You told me you couldn’t stand nonsense.
This story was shortlisted in the April Monthly Micro Competition.
About the author: Bio Kate Simblet (she/ her) social works by day, plays with words by night. Lives in Brighton, loves the sea.