A Broomful of Asha – Dead Deer

A Broomful of Asha

How did she do that? How could she have such great luck? She never seemed to have many problems, the sun always seemed to shine on her. she was blessed.

But not this morning. This was her morning off, and she used it for cleaning the house. So much to do, she had precious little time the rest of the week, so she crammed all the cleaning in this morning. Cleaning her clothes, scrubbing the bathroom, wiping and polishing the kitchen, sweeping the floors.

Ah yes. sweeping the floors. The broom.

It was a handsome broom, or it had been at some point. It had a beautiful wooden handle, a bit tatty now of course and with that unusual bulge half way down. It was a tremendously good broom not leaving a speck behind, even successful in the corners. But it was loud.

Ah yes, the noise.

It was weird sort of rumbling sound, like the low crashing of a distant storm. It grated on her, and it never stopped whilst she was sweeping. She tried wearing headphones but this subtly infernal noise always pushed through. She gritted her teeth and got through the task finally finishing and replacing her broom in it’s cupboard, silent at last.

She called for Bhosle, calling out the doors, front and back for her, searching her favourite spots. No sign of the coal-black cat to be seen, hadn’t been all day.

The answer, of course, rested quietly inside the belly of her broomstick tucked up warm and satisfied in the cupboard under the stairs. 

Today I wrote from 16:04 to 16:14. I was prompted by idea “The answer rested quietly inside the belly of the broomstickhere. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

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