“…yet for all his faults, she just couldn’t stop. She told me, in confidence, that she’d never seen anything like it.” Mary paused to take a sip of the now-cold tea.
Liz wiggled back into her chair. She’d been edging forward for the past ten minutes and was close to tipping point. “Why?” she asked. “Was it really big? Did it look funny? Oh gosh, it wasn’t one of those micro ones you see on telly was it?”
Mary licked the last traces of Earl Grey from her lips. “Well you know me,” she said, “I’m not one to gossip.”
This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Often with over 100 people taking part.
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