By Alexina Dalgetty
Ella and Alfie ate sandwiches on the beach. They paddled. Ella squealed and her lips turned blue. Alfie kissed them with warmth. Her heart sang. Alfie snored beneath a newspaper, Ella crocheted. She hid the doilies when he woke, didn’t want him thinking she was thinking …
* * *
The sea salt cut through Ella’s flesh. Alfie rubbed and kissed her blue fingers. Slobber glistened on Ella’s hands. Would he anger if she cleaned it away?
Ella glared at the sea and slowly, imperceptibly, wiped a lifetime of kisses into her blouse.
“I write because the stories are there to be written.” – the writer