FaceFic

She had always wanted to go to Dubbo to find Elvis and Princess Di working at Dubbo Macca’s. Despite zero proof, except the urban myth, she went. She pulls up and walks in prepared for anything. She sees Di serving Diet Coke, Elvis running drive-thru in satin. She snaps a picture and calls her sister: no signal. She drives: no tyres. She walks, and wanders with all the other myth-busters, forever lost. Now she knows.

Here’s something different: a riddle. Can you guess the subject of this piece?

I enjoy protecting people. Keeping them warm, safeguarding their privacy. It’s a good life. I’m sheltered from the weather apart from the occasional spot of rain. Sunny days are best. I love the warmth, the light. The way everything looks: clear edges, no shadows. But then the others brush me to one side, wanting the light and the warmth for themselves. I don’t complain. No one would listen anyway. They don’t see me.

Layla sat, contemplating her toast and the crumbs that fell onto her cluttered table. She tried not to think of Dave, but he kept crowding her mind uninvited. She stood and shut the curtains, pretending she was alone, pretending they did not see it all. Above her the shoppers watched on, wondering. Why was Dave’s body spreadeagled in the kitchen? Would Layla leave now? She left her toast, and returned to her cold bed.