Mind Reading: A short, short story

 

Don’t look, I told myself.  I didn’t want to see what the anchor woman liked to do after three martinis.  But it wasn’t as easy as turning away, this new sense of mine.  At work, I looked inside my boss’s head, a shallow crevasse.  I always knew he was an ass.

In the afternoon, disaster was averted because I saw the trucker dreaming of his Lazy-boy.  And what confidence I felt when challenging my son on his undone homework that night.  Exhausted, I wore my green gingham gown to bed because I saw it reminded my husband of his mother.

–by Becky Ruth Powell

 

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