Friday Fictioneers: Headgames


“Where are my glasses?” in desperation.

“No idea,” smirking.

“I can’t see anything!”

“Clearly,” with a tinge of ill-timed humour.

Crash! “Bugger! I’ve broken something.”

Stomp. Glass shattering.

“I’ve stepped on them, haven’t I?”

“No. Just that ugly vase your mother bought.”

“Good. Help me retrace my steps.”

“Am I a guide dog now?” the sarcasm drips like venom from a snake.

“No. A guide dog would help with a wag of its tail and a stupid grin. You, on the other hand, are quite useless. Just tell me if you can see them,” unashamed of pleading.



“On your head.”

“I hate you.”

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I write because I have to. It is a compulsion. I do it to vent, to laugh and to remember. I blog because it has been so long since I had to write with a pen that my hand would go into cramp if I tried to write a journal.

5 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers: Headgames”

  1. Why is he so snarky? Oh, I know. It’s because he doesn’t have to remove his glasses like she does, so he just doesn’t understand. Maybe my reaction is because of the venom dripping from the snake picture. Shudder.

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