Three and five—evens. Hansy scooped up the dice just as Dee returned with the shopping. Evens, he thought. So I’m leaving. Evens I go, odds I stay. He turned the ivory-cold cubes around his palm. Ran his thumb along the rounded edges.
‘Careful with those things.’ Dee laughed but her eyes met his straight and hard.
‘No worries, Love. just mucking around.’ That’s what he’d said when he lost almost everything—their savings, the house. Nearly her too. He still didn’t know how she’d had the courage to stay. He was just mucking around. He wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry.
Best out of three he thought, sending the dice tumbling across the coffee table.
A writer from Melbourne, Richard maintains a number of blogs exploring very short fiction and text-based art practices. His stories and poems have been published in both mainstream and alternative journals and collections. He is also a visual artist and was co-founder of both Platform Artists Group and zine store, Sticky. He continues to publish very short fiction and conduct microfiction workshops for practicing writers, students and others. He has created numerous text-based installations and artworks for public spaces, including at Federation Square, Melbourne and in conjunction with the 2017, Newcastle Writers Festival.
View all posts by Richard Holt
small stories about love 