50 Word Stories: Un-Conjoined and Free.

“Constance,” cried the swirling wind.
“Constance,” wept the rain.
“Constance,” rustled the leaves.
“Constance,” beckoned a voice which cut through them all. “Dear, sister,” she hissed like a spitting cat, “come back.”
But Constance was a clever twin, a wise twin, hiding in the field, holding the stitches in place.


30 thoughts on “50 Word Stories: Un-Conjoined and Free.”

      1. Mildred is a lost soul, listing to port, a ship without a rudder. One breezy, Autumn day, a stroll in the park turned to a bloodbath on the cobbles. Her life unraveled at the hands of the person closest to her, her sister, Constance. A blade, a snip, parted forever.

      2. As in life, so in death. Six hands, six feet, three heads, they couldn’t sit on a bus or a cinema seat but in their grave they’ll sleep, once more complete. Torn apart, they fought together, so broken was their mother’s heart, bitching, biting, always irate, they could never separate.

      3. There’ll be a ‘get out’ clause in the pre-nup. The other sister Esmerelda – the go-between, I call her – deserves it. If you like, I’ll put it together, email you the draft, you can add or edit, then we post; you on yours, me on mine

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