100-Word Fiction: ‘And How She Danced’

The day the border was crossed he drank sweet coffee. He had been waiting to hear a cuckoo. His father railed “Let them in!” and waved his handkerchief. The fields were yellow with rape. Vasily had his toys all over the carpet. His mother made soup. Later he would meet friends at the corner bar but make sure he returned home before dusk. The main roads were all busy with heavily laden cars and trucks. They were all headed in one direction. How quick things move, he thought. And how predictable this unpredictability. Oh she danced so well last night.

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Author: mwbewick

MW Bewick is a writer, journalist and musician, based in Wivenhoe and sometimes London. He is one half of Dunlin Press.

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