Fiction Brothers LNE
Fiction Friday

The spoon rattled on the dish. The pea fell out. "Oh damn." It was on the floor.

Then I picked it up. A little light shining and the pea was as good as new--no dirt specks.

Marge, my live-in housekeeper, was staring at me over her Continental breakfast. "What are you doing, Halford?"

"I'm attempting to save money. In case you've forgotten, my international conglomerate of soap has come crumbling about me. You're the only luxury I can afford."

"I told you that international conglomorate of soap was a bad idea."

"It was brilliant, I tell you! Soap of all kinds. Scented soap. Soap in amusing shapes. Soap with an internal steel frame. And my triumph, living soap."

"That living soap was your downfall, Halford." Marge brushed some toast crumbs onto the floor. "I told you that would slip you up."

"Don't tell me about slipping up," I said. "It reminds me of soap."

Marge nodded understandingly. "Don't worry your head about it," she said. "I'll clean up breakfast. Why don't you take your shower."

"Don't talk to me about taking my shower," I said. "It reminds me of soap."

Mussolini pressed the SAVE key and moved away from the computer. His latest short story, THE LIVING SOAP, was well on its way.