Deuill peeped in at Gia’s window and called out to her.
Gia was up to her elbows in bread dough. She blew the hair out of her face and squinted at him “What d’ye want?”
“Gia, listen to me,” said Deuill. He was a young man in blue, blue jeans and navy t-shirt, with a gray hoodie pulled up over his head.
“Where’ve ye been, anyway? Ain’t see ye in a dog’s age.” She thumped the dough down and gave it a turn. Thump, turn.
“I’ve been around the world in a shoe and run through the streets of Calcutta as a dog. In France I was a sheep and in Germany a bear. I set up in England for a year and a day and led three young women astray. Many wonders have I seen, and many horrors.”
Thump, turn. “Ah,” she said. There was a fine sheen of perspiration on her upper lip.
“Gia, listen.” Deuill leaned in through the window. “Come with me. And I will show you the rarest things.”
“Get away, Deuill.” The dough had come off her hands and she crossed her arms at him. “What’d ye give that I don’t already have?”
“Love,” said Deuill, and flew away raucously.
3 thoughts on “Deuill”
So you simply write brilliant little works every week and publish them here?
Yes'm. Five sketches a week, 52 weeks a year.
Yeah, he's awesome like that. Tell your friends!
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