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December 22 2015

B. Lieve

 

Night Shift

Cold Milk

 

Small fingers pressed lightly to glass, tracing circles in the mist. Listening for the soft magical tinkle of sound that says he’s come. They laughed at her in school. You don’t really still believe he will, do you?

She listens for the silent tramp of snowy boots, the creak of the armchair, the soft pad of footsteps on the stairs, imagines mince pie crumbs in his beard. He must come, he promised.

As she turns she hears it; a soft magical tinkle of sound. A key in the door. Her mum’s voice. Dad? This year he did make it home.

 

About the Author

If you believe it, he will come

Published December 22 2015