‘Julien, get out of there right now!’
His mother screamed through the invigorating juices of the Puppet Theatre, cutting to the chase.
‘Mum, just a quick splish-splash.’
A holiday portent. Wet shoes, pants, shirt, and hair. And an aggravated getter.
Suddenly, the woman grabbed his hand tightly, dragging him along, to the accompaniment of screams from the agitated audience.
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
“I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still.” Sylvia Plath
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