Mills and Swoon

Bunnie hopped her way down a long corridor. The bright lights were blinding her and she had a headache. She was in a hurry. The walls were lined with celebratory portraits of animals and insects from all over the world; intricate batiks and weaves as well as paintings in ostentatious frames. The high ceilings and open views from the large windows made her nervous, jumpy. Frankly. she would be glad when this was over. Someone startled her, trotting up from behind, clippety-clopping loudly. They overtook her, turning to look at her huge brown eyes. It was a man with long grey hair. He shimmied his main proudly and smiled before clippety-clopping ahead in worn black shoes that had seen better days. Bunnie smiled back, nervously. She needed all the support she could rally, being a stranger here. Bunnie is nervous At the double doors, a woman waited. She looked Bunnie up and down with a supercilious stare then looked at the door. Bunnie felt awkward and was uncertain of her next move. Shoul

Great Aunt Katherine had been seemingly on her last legs for about thirty years. Since I could remember she had been shrinking and creaking and swaying in the wind. Finally, she was gone and was currently residing in a casket for public viewing before burial later in the day. We had never gotten along.   Great Aunt Katherine She was caustic and bitter and complained about everything. She irked me to the core. None of us liked her and we seldom got in touch. Mum had fallen out with her years back and the connections rusted and corroded like old batteries. Damage had been done with emotional weaponry and unrepentant intent. But in death people rally together to do their duty and triumphantly, one hopes, they ignore the fallout from the battleground. The undertaker had worked a treat. Great Aunt’s hair was spruced and pompadoured like a grand poodle and someone had done a great job on her makeup. In repose, I thought I saw in her some beauty. I had never seen it before in her. How, I wond

The alarm went off with its usual gusto and Mary trundled, heavy-footed, across the room. She hurdled with athletic ease, straight over the large sleeping cat making her way to the loo. Then, true to form, popped the kettle on and shoved two pieces of toast into the toaster still half asleep. The rescue, who was called Simon due to a previous owner, was a cat with a catalogue of neurosis and allergies whom she adored. He lay sprawled across the shaggy rug over the underfloor heating and, just as he did every morning, miraculously avoided being trodden on by his busy owner. He was used to her now. He trusted her, finally, after the early teething problems where her strange behaviour had put into question all they had learned about cat ladies. He had assumed cat ladies were either virgins or frigid, many were broken-hearted even and, quite often, bookish. Simon loved their books. They were so warm and comfortable to sit on. Unbeknown to his new owner, Simon had had a lot of other owners

Mabel had always known she was odd and so had everyone else. She was born with eyes that wandered in different directions and this seemingly small detail on her face had only had the effect of making her seem even weirder than she was. It alienated her from school friends and added to her overall peculiarity. Furthermore, when she had matured, she had grown buxom with a small shadow above her top lip. Then there was the issue with communications, or rather her lack of them. Her parents, keen to get Mable to fit in, had sent her to various therapists and life coaches in an attempt to increase her friendship ring. Alas, the friendships remained around level zero. At best people did not like her, thinking her rude, and at worst they were petrified. Sometimes, people crossed the road when they saw her clomping down the street in her 6-inch steel-toed boots with her black hair structured high above her like a pair of bird’s wings. The piercings and tattoos added to the overall effect of