Maybe it was the way her thumb slid evenly over the business edge of the butterknife, or the manner in which her mouth smirked up manically at the left towards the mole on her cheek. Either way, Bradley knew, that in five short seconds, his cajones would join his appendix in a doggy bag.
Bradley gets her name wrong at breakfast.
Published by
saaleha
I am a writer and photographer (look up my work on www.shootcake.com) based in Johannesburg, South Africa. I have an MA in Creative Writing from the university currently known as Rhodes. My writing accolades include winning the 2014 Writivism Short Story Prize and the 2020 Ingrid Jonker Poetry Prize for my debut collection, Zikr. View all posts by saaleha