Tag Archives: fiction friday

Crossword Puzzles

Dusk is folded into darkness and the pensioner gently pulls the front door closed and pushes the granny trolley down the driveway. He makes his way along the street to each yellow recycling bin on the nature strip to collect cans for return and earn. The last bin of the block on his return journey is his neighbours. At the top of the bin is a stack of the week’s newspapers, the crossword pages removed and folded neatly. Each crossword is half completed. They are left for him. He takes the crossword pages and throughout the week will fill in the gaps believing it will keep the couple next door together.

FICTION FRIDAY

Garage Sale
It started with a cardboard box like the ones picked up from a storage facility for two bucks fifty a pop. He had heard his parents talking about a garage sale, to make a spot of extra cash, help pay the bills. He thought he should help. From the kitchen junk drawer, he pulled a roll of black cloth tape, and gaffed the bottom of the box to seal it. The first three things he put into the box were a Pokémon card from above his bed, the magpie feather on his desk and his favourite pair of footy socks.
I wish that the boy, back then, would know the weight of the box. Or maybe it’s best the boy didn’t know. He will know, one day in his future. I want to warn the boy that throughout his life, the box will carry items of importance, objects of obsolescence, trinkets and treasures. And I would tell the boy to add another layer of gaff to the bottom seal and the sides because the weight of expectation is a burden too big to carry.