Our First Touch

Sharon Boyle

My arm is down the toilet’s U-bend, not acting very U-like. I could do with another elbow hinge to stretch in further. My wedding ring is here. I dropped it and flushed, then flushed again.

But gold should never be treated like shit and that’s why I’m kneeling and fishing about in my classiest, sassiest dress with the puffed sleeves (one rolled up). The celebratory meal is off after an argument burst open with my arsey ring-mate. I couldn’t stop nipping and snipping, and he couldn’t explain why he treats me like…yeh, that.

I flex in an inch. The bottom of the bowl is smooth, the water cool – I don’t dwell on its cleanliness.

My eyes pop wide.

A hand has slipped around mine. Strange fingers squeeze a firm handshake. I do the polite thing and squeeze back, glad I’m dressed for the occasion.


This story was a winner in the Micro Mentoring Comp.

About the author: Sharon has been published online and in magazines/anthologies including Reflex Fiction, Retreat West, Ellipsis Zine and Writers’ Forum. As well as shorties and flash she writes YA novels. She hums while she writes, driving everyone insane. She tweets as @SharonBoyle50