A Story in Many Parts (keep it light)
No one really knows what is around the corner, and I certainly didn’t. Not, today, at any rate.
I had gone out in order to buy a packet of loose-leaf tea and a potato (I had three, I needed four), taking my usual route to the local ‘BuyStuff’ store. This required travelling up my street, turning the corner, and walking a further twenty paces to reach my destination.
It was when I turned the corner that my day took a strange turn.
(Cage Dunn’s continuation).
The street was silent, no flashing lights, no crazy kids running up and down the street, no cars beeping with impatience. No response from the auto-doors.
The guy inside ducked lower behind the register, moving slow as a sliver of moon-light. His hand flapped, indicating left. I looked.
(Continuation by Grae Sandford – Part three)
“Mr Petersen! Mr Petersen!”
Peter Petersen, son of Peter Petersen, som of… – as was the way, in Sweden – he was from a long line of Peter Petersens, married to Petra Petersen neé Petra Petrasdóttir – as is still the way in Iceland.
All this had been explained by Peter across the counter on more than one occasion.
Back to the present.
“Mr. Petersen! Let me in! And ‘quickly!’”