Slippery Slope


Steve stepped over the puddle on the kitchen floor and stared in frustration at the sink.
It was her turn, of that he was sure. 


He knew he’d cooked sausages last night, and a (rather splendid if he did say so himself) lasagna the night before; he’d even hoovered the house on Sunday. In fact, now he came to think of it, he’d cooked and cleaned for the past 30 days or so.


Steve grabbed the cloth with a huff and checked the text he’d been dismissing for the last 2 hours. 


This flash fiction/short story, call it what you will, was written for Friday Fictioneers.

Thanks to Rochelle as ever for hosting, and A. Noni Mouse for this week’s photo prompt. Click here to read this week’s stories from other writers around the world.

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