General

Travis had spent the house downpayment again. As he pulled up in a shiny new hotrod his fiance began to cry, her rounded belly shaking, tears falling freely. Terry had been waiting for him, for the “boy's night out.” He saw Kirsty start to crumple and raced to the porch just in time to see his best-bud since pre-K swagger from the orange vehicle with a double black stripe. “Ain't she pretty! Ain't she everything we every dreamed of as kids?”

Terry sucked in his breath and with a brief pat to Kirsty's shoulder he approached his friend. “You arse, you absolute arse. What the fuck man. You have a beautiful bride and a baby due, and do this?! I do not know you, man. I do not.”

Travis wore a face like he'd been hit by a frying pan and he took a step backwards. “Whoah, man. What's eating you?”

“You, Travis. You are. That money was your ticket to putting a decent roof over your kid's head. You're going to take the car back right now and I'm coming with you. Damn you. Grow the fuck up."

General

Plates spilled over the brim of the sink, and beer bottles were either broken on the floor, or spilled over the table. The grey carpets were ripped and wrinkled. Bills lied crumpled in the pile of papers to be shredded. He had a baby on the way, but he still acted like this. He was too irresponsible to be a father. He wouldn't know better than to let his baby play at the water edge.

By Amelia Nelson-Madore, December 11, 2017.