Ode to Love

Hope

Excerpt from Ode to Love
roses

She had a rattling old woman’s voice. Like a fairytale character. Typical. The type who said things like “now listen sonny”. Quavering. Her appearance suited her voice. Short, with concave chest. Woollen swathed hunched shoulders. Kind face. Short pastel blonde hair. Finger waves. She offered you home cooked apple pie. Served with a home sewn embroidered napkin and polished silver. With the first mouthful slipping lusciously past your tonsils, she’d tell you the filthiest joke you’d ever heard. Astonishment made you laugh harder. At the joke and her sweet face. A dry delivery. “I’m serious dear”. Then the devilish smile. Behind those Nana Maskouri glasses her eyes were still the life of the party.

Tonight there were no smutty jokes. Just her dry, matter of fact voice.”He’s very sick dear. Meningitis. He’s a sick man.” She thanked the old woman politely. Withholding her emotions. He…

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