Catastrophe

By Billy Craven

Anders was gone. He’d left her with nothing but 6 cans of Norwegian Mackerel, 3 months’ unpaid rent, and a probable STI. Puffy-eyed and defiant, Sinead clenched her fist and let it fall with a thump on the unused pillow by her side. It was 5.15am, still dark outside, but already the tone-deaf bird that was nesting in the eaves had started; a pre-dawn tuneless chorus that made sleep impossible and frayed her nerves to breaking point.