Running on Empty

This is a short unedited extract from my NANO novel Running on Empty.

Another blue tit landed on the hawthorn branch then hopped onto the bag of black sunflower seeds, nodding this way and that. The robin dropped out of the lilac onto the terracotta tray that held the mixed seed and the sound of a train’s whistle startled them both and they flew off. Somewhere up the road a neighbour pushed his hover mower, taking advantage of the dry day to cut his grass as short as possible before winter arrived. There had been hailstorms in Devon this week, six foot drifts of hail floating on floodwater. So much for global warming, she thought. Orla kissed her husband goodbye as he fastened his cycle helmet, adjusting it under his chin. He put on his neoprene gloves and fluorescent cycle jacket and wheeled his bike out through the front door. She finished mixing the flapjack and pressed it into the tin then shoved it in the oven. She licked the spoon and put it into the sink with the pan. It was four fifteen. She sat down at the computer whilst the cat sat on the chair next to her licking its tail. The tail seemed to have a life of its own which was, she thought, more than she had.

© Diane Becker 2008

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