‘Papa, now?’

‘Ten more minutes, honeycomb.’

‘But, I need to go!’

‘Try holding it in, muffin.’

My eight-year-old hopped around, holding her butt, face red as a beet. I would have laughed, but we couldn’t afford things like laughter in these desperate times.

‘Papa, please?’

‘Five more minutes, sweetie. Your mom is still out and about. So is Darren. Why don’t you go behind that nice tree.’

‘I want MY bathroom, Papa.’

I could see my ex-wife and her Darren milling around in the house. They usually wander off for a snack around this time.

Why do bloody zombies need bathrooms?

Even (un)dead, she gets the house.

Written in response to Russell’s prompt for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the awesome Rochelle. Please find other entries here



27 thoughts on “She doesn’t need a loo! – Friday Fictioneers

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s