Unto The Morrow, by Amy Friedman

(F.F.F. Website Story)

‘Twas the night before New Year’s.
She cast a gimlet eye upon her table.
China and cutlery gleamed. Her ruby cloth shimmered. Water and wine glasses sparkled.
Delicate tapers burned with a steady flame.
Steam curled gently from fat tureens.
Platters overflowed with carved meats and fruits.
All was set.
“Ain’t the grub ready yet?” he said, crashing into the dining room.
“Ready, dear,” she smiled.
“Great,” he said, grabbing a turkey leg with a meaty hand. “I’m off to the pub. Don’t wait up.”
She had no intention of waiting. The portal had opened, and she was stepping through.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s