The Name Inside
By Kathy Maclean - 25/02/2008
He stared at the plant. Three green leaves pointing upwards and three straggling, brown and translucent like a parched umbrella over the dust. ‘It’s half dead,’ he thought, and felt sorry for the life ebbing away. Tousel haired, crumpled little Ernest was having his assessment, hastily arranged – just him and a big lady with buttons all the way down her cardigan. The small drab room had a strange stale smell and he felt even sadder than when he’d arrived with the policeman.
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