Marina’s invisibility wasn’t the result of radiation or antimatter. She simply woke one morning to find she apparently wasn’t where she knew she was.

She tip-toed to the lounge room. Craig was on the couch in his Chelsea sleeping bag. She remembered their fight the previous night.

It started when Craig said they’d need to tighten their belts if they were ever going to save a deposit for a house. Then he said maybe they could spend less on clothes, which, considering he only bought jeans from markets and occasional t-shirts, seemed a bit provocative.

So Marina said maybe he didn’t need his member’s ticket or his football collectibles and anyway what did it matter to him if she bought new clothes or got her hair done every few weeks, because he’d stopped noticing her. In fact she thought he wouldn’t even notice if she wasn’t there.

Craig rolled over, scratched his backside, blinked and stumbled past her into the kitchen. He downed a bowl of corn flakes, pulled on the clothes he’d removed the previous night and grabbed his car keys.

He tripped at the bottom of the stairs. Marina slammed the door behind him, leaving his keys inside on the hook with her.

Craig cursed his own clumsiness.

 

2011-Richard Holt / small stories about love (smallstoriesaboutlove.wordpress.com)

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