By Sally Doherty
Fisherman John would meet me here with two lobsters every Saturday. He’d press them into my hands with a wink and a squeeze. It was his dimpled smile that softened my shell though his kisses tasted of salt and his calloused skin was rough against my own. People say lobsters mate for life. But that’s not true. Male lobsters are promiscuous sods. Sooner or later the female has to fend for herself with ten thousand eggs under her tail. People say lobsters don’t feel pain. But that’s not true either. Beneath the tough exterior, they are tender and raw.
This story won the People’s Prize vote in the February 2021 Micro Fiction Comp.
About the author: Sally Doherty lives in leafy Surrey with her husband and three-legged Labrador. She dabbles in flash fiction with pieces published by Reflex Fiction, Spelk Fiction, Ellipsis Zine and Funny Pearls, and she has twice won Retreat West’s micro fiction competition. She is also the judge for WriteMentor’s quarterly flash competition. Primarily, Sally writes middle grade novels. You can find her on Twitter @Sally_writes , Facebook www.facebook.com/sallydohertywrites and on her blog www.sallydohertywrites.com