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Sherry Cassells

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Fiction Short: Trixie

Aunt Trixie borrowed me on Saturdays.  She could have asked for Helen who was prettier, Mary who was nicer, or even Carol who everybody said was a hoot. But she picked me. You are going out with your Aunt Trixie today June, my mother said that first time, she will pick you up at noon. I couldn’t eat any more. I passed my toast to Carol who dipped its edges in ketchup while I watched not exactly in horror but in something new. It was only ten after nine.  I tried reading but my eyes kept going through the window. I tried corking but same thing. I took a bath but couldn’t linger. Finally I started dusting and tidying and sweeping and then before I knew it I was washing the floors and then the stairs and the bedrooms and the bathroom and all the glass and mirrors. I took the

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