By David Myers

The house was empty.  Dazed Nigel wandered from room to room.

TV, gone.

Hi-fi, gone.

Table, gone.

Chairs, gone.

Fridge, gone.

Bed, gone.

Make up, dresses, pantyhose, shoes, hats, stuffed toys, bras, garish pink fluffy slippers, all gone.

Nigel couldn’t believe she had taken the fridge. The only thing she had left him was a cactus with a note firmly impaled on one of its spines.

“Here is something you won’t need to water.”