Drip, drip, drip.
Each time a droplet of water hits the sink it echoes through the house. It rips through the silence like a gunshot. My pillow doesn’t muffle the sound and the drips keep coming.
“Why didn’t you fix the tap like you said you would?” my wife queries from her side of the bed.
I let out a groan, followed by, “Because I hate sleeping properly”.
My response only infuriates her more as she rolls away from me.
I reach for my phone, locating the app for the hardware store I order a click-and-collect washer.
About the Creator
D-Donohoe
Amateur storyteller, LEGO fanatic, leader, ex-Detective and human. All sorts of stories: some funny, some sad, some a little risqué all of them told from the heart.
Thank you all for your support.
The Road to Nowhere
Trigger warnings: Violence, Death. "May the Sun burn your tongue out, woman," Fredrick's father screamed the curse into his mother's ear as their elegant little carriage rumbled along, its polished wood and gilded trim glinting in the torchlight. They had just left the small village of Saffron and were on an unnamed road to the capital for the Royal wedding. Fredrick leaned back in his plush velvet seat to escape into the passing landscape, but across from him sat the servant boy, a scrappy lad named Jack. Jack's eyes held a mixture of awe and fear, the kind that only a commoner could feel in the presence of nobility. Jack looked up and caught Fredrick's gaze, offering him a sad little smile before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a little caramel treat. This candy was no doubt stolen from the kitchen treat cupboard; if he was caught with it, he would be locked in the box as punishment.
By Frank English7 days ago in Fiction
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