Saturday, 1 March 2014


by Stella Turner

The only Spirits I’ve ever known where the ones in optics behind the bar or in my drinks cabinet. Dorothy announcing she had them in her home was no big shakes. Not until I saw her one day with a slim, good looking toy boy on her arm. I tried hard not to gawp but Dorothy was an overweight fifty year old, not some lithe youth. Each time I saw them together she looked older and thinner, he younger. Like spring and winter, a tiny strong sapling and a withered old twig. Put me right off spirits. I’m tee-total now.

Author bio: I'm Stella Turner, aka StellakateT on Twitter
My blog is

Alcohol is part of 101 Fiction issue 3.

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