Sylvia A. Winters

If a cat is thrown a lemon, he builds a log cabin and spends the summer in Canada

Pink Hat

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Alarm goes. Arms flailing wildly until a hand catches snooze for another ten minutes of blissful half-sleep. Alarm again. Roll out of bed, face to the floor. Hands over ears until moving is unavoidable. Alarm off but still ringing in tired ears. Crawl to the door and push it open. Slowly pulling up to stand on two feet with the aid of the banister whilst making the way to bathroom. Shower on, water rushing. Citrus-scented shower gel and apple shampoo foaming, then washing away.

Towel-dry, one wrapped around wet hair. Breakfast. Bread in the toaster. Coffee, two spoons, one sugar. No milk. Dog that, for a moment, convinces that he’s half-seal, half-hedgehog, stares up. Drop a piece of crust on the floor. Leave him dog biscuits in the bowl before you head back upstairs to get dressed.

The unmade bed, that lusty temptress, willing you to spend one more hour in her soft, warm embrace. She beckons. Pull clothes on quick to avoid further advances. Make-up. Hair-dryer, brush. Shoes, bag and lunch.

Then out the door, ready for a day of climbing frames and monkey-bars. Beneath the winter coat, the gun hidden calm against smooth lining. The kid with the pink rabbit hat and pigtails making faces. That hat is going to get it.

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Written by Sylvia A. Winters

July 12, 2010 at 8:28 pm

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