Ffion nudged a plate of pastel coloured cake towards Billy. ‘You need sugar by the looks of you. When did you last eat?’
A waitress skittered past, pinny crisp and white as snowflakes, heels tapping on the parquet flooring. Billy’s coat was stained, one sleeve torn at the shoulder. His hands were splashed brown – possibly dried blood. He didn’t touch the cake.
‘Ever had a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from?’ His voice was frail enough to snap.
‘All nightmares end.’
A square of cake quivered, crumbs trembling onto the plate. An ant emerged from the spongy rubble, then another and another, threads of black, lacquered bodies cutting across the bright white cloth.
‘Not anymore,’ said Billy.
What is wrong with me? I see this lovely photo Sonya selected for today’s Three Line Tales and all I imagine is ants marauding over the cake and endless nightmares! Do see if you can write something more cheerful – or if you can trump me with something terrifying. See here for Ts and Cs.