“I may be old but I’m not senile yet.”                        

You cross the litter-strewn confines of the park heading in the direction of the pond. Halting to feed the ducks, you spy the bloated corpse of a frog bobbing up and down entangled in the nearby reeds.  Engorged blue bottles hover over putrid flesh. You rip apart the slices of stale bread under the scrutiny of a glazed hooded stare.

“Do something useful for once and make a cup of coffee”

You wonder how your lethargic companion met his maker. Was death the whimsy of a teenage prank? Was it death by toxic misadventure? You’ve certainly given that last one plenty of thought. Getting a hold of pills would be easy enough in one of those alleyways behind the downtown brewery. The satisfaction of grinding pills into a white powder, adding slowly to a simmering pot or a brewing cup of coffee.

“The scent of martyrdom reeks off you like fish that’s gone off in the fridge.”

The launched bread missiles generate a flurry of wings and a huddle of ducks engulfs the flotsam. You shake the paper bag empty of all final crumbs. Milk, don’t forget to pop by the store for milk, and maybe a pack of those biscuits she likes to have with her coffee.

 Marianna is an emerging writer. Italian was her first language but her Irish mother immersed her in English from an early age, passing on a love of storytelling and poetry. By day she is a lawyer, specializing in discrimination and equality, and by night she crams in as writing as she can muster before she requires sleep. Last year she took a leap of faith and began a two-year virtual journey in Creative Writing at Oxford University. She is on Twitter @marianna_patane.