Breathlessly, I stammer my way through apologies, grabbing bookbags, coats, papers from the teacher, nodding-head and fake smiles, checking her watch as she closes the door. My daughter’s embarrassment is evident on her reddened cheeks and averted gaze, and I sigh, wondering when the trauma of school will truly finish.
Charlie Swailes writes flash fiction and teaches English.
I’ve been collecting things since I was very small. Conkers, feathers, snow globes. Then onto stamps, butterflies, coins.
It was only natural for me to progress to larger, more beautiful and precious things. Hard to find, harder to keep.
People demand their freedom in a way that stamps never did.
Charlie Swailes writes short and very short stories when not teaching English or looking after her two small boys.