I’d meant to drive the hitchhiker all the way to Chicago, but she smelled bad, so I kicked her out as soon as we reached Lake Michigan. I was sorry I couldn’t take her home, but my fuel economy improved a lot without her body rolling around in the trunk.
Hannah Whiteoak doesn’t drive. She tweets microfiction at @HannahWhiteoak.
When I said crafts were therapeutic, I meant something like crochet or pottery. He settled on taxidermy.
True, he’s sleeping better now. He’s less stressed. But I can’t get comfortable with six glassy eyes staring at me.
And sometimes I think the kids were more rewarding when they were alive.
Hannah Whiteoak has no children and a large collection of stuffed animals.
No one knows why color disappeared. Leaves browned. Flowers faded. Clothing looked washed-out. Even blood turned beige.
My son’s never seen a sunset, only gray skies.
The last green shoot attracted longer lines than the Mona Lisa. When I took my son to see it, he scrunched his nose. “Gross.”
Hannah Whiteoak is a freelance writer and poet from Sheffield, UK. Follow her at @hannahwhiteoak.
Things you left behind when you moved out:
-coffee mugs (2), stained
-CDs (4), no cases
-shoes (1 pair), scuffed
-socks (5), all odd
-spider plant (1), lovingly watered
-cufflink (1), gift from me, remember?
-sweater (1), still smells like you
-heart (1), broken
Please call ASAP to arrange collection.
Hannah Whiteoak is a freelance writer and poet from Sheffield, UK. Read her stories or follow @hannahwhiteoak.