A Flash Fiction piece by Louise Mangos
You learn to adapt when it happens at an early age. You memorise every wall of your flat and each corner of your furniture. Light switches are redundant when he’s not at home.
You hear when he’s a hundred yards from the door. His keys jangle like tiny cathedral bells. His guilt gusts in on the evening chill. She wears no perfume when he’s been with her, but there’s no hiding the musky odour of passion.
You know where all the buttons are on the stove. The radio helps you keep track of time. You smell the oil when it’s ready for frying. At the back of the fridge is a chicken breast, forgotten for a number of weeks. Slathered in your coriander and harissa sauce, you gauge the meat in the pan by the suppleness at your fingertips.
Revenge is best served half-cooked.
Winner of the Crimefest Flash Bang competition in 2017
Copyright Louise Mangos