I

I should have been studying, communicating, reading, emailing, filing, cleaning or sleeping.
Instead I wrote you a story.
There were damsels in distress and man-eating sharks and fire breathing dragons and unrequited, forbidden and arranged love.
I wrote you a story last night;
By the light of night-silence, the scratch of possums in the roof. I was alone.
I wrote you a story last night;
Of a flowered dress that doesn't quite fit and the bitter man whose daughter wears it, just for him,
I wrote you a story last night;
A tale of a million citiex and a million broken hearts, a million happy endings and the mirror image tragedies. There were reflections, subplots, disjointed disconnected disappearing time sequences, and lots of bad grammar. Let's call it 'experimental'.
My thumb stained ink blue and blistered.
I wrote you a story last night;
Of love, loss, betrayal and hope. A story of family and relationships, of war, politics, religion and sex.

I wrote you a story of death -
Ours.