Photo by CRYSTALWEED cannabis on Unsplash
by Sandra Arnold
We used to lie in bed, sheets over our heads like a tent, planning our future by torchlight with my twin telling me my plan was just plain boring.
Her plan, she whispered, was to travel the world where she would meet an old billionaire and marry him and become famous for writing crime novels by his pool that overlooked the Mediterranean, then, when the old codger died, she’d inherit the lot.
When I asked how he would die, she laughed and told me to use my imagination and told me not to worry about my boring future, and promised to send for me when she’d buried him, but two decades later the sending-for-me part was the only bit she hadn’t managed to pull off.
The first time I woke at night and saw her in the corner of my room I asked her about the whys, hows and whens, but she put a finger to her lips.
You said you would always be with me, I whimpered.
I am, she said.
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Sandra Arnold’s work includes seven books. Her short fiction has been published internationally and received nominations for The Best Small Fictions, Best Microfictions and The Pushcart Prize. She has a PhD in Creative Writing from Central Queensland University, Australia. Find more about Sandra: www.sandraarnold.co.nz
