So here I am again, the kitchen gleaming shining clean as can be. Inspiration beckons me, what glorious creation can I produce today. I wash my hands and collect the pots and pans. Again thoughts Of culinary delights take over but alas the door swings open and in walks the actual cook.

I have stood at the hatch for a good few years, heard the laughter and seen the tears the many faces that have past by have all sat at the long table ever present in front of my eyes. The draining effects of their disease encroaching daily for all to see, they forget their names and who they were, sat, at the long table, confused and unknowing.

Covid 19 arrived at the carehome. Covid trays I take and sterilise. I see the worry in the eyes of the staff. Do they see my worried eyes above my masķ. It drags us all down in to anguish and fear. The residents now behind close doors, russian roulette the Covid fear.

Not that it would prove necessary for you to vanish. After all who would even consider that a man of your status would do such a thing. I think people would be to embarrassed, who in his right mind would think it of you ,"Me"

So I begin....I begin with the thought what story's, do I like. Giants, "yes" that's it when I was a kid they use to have 50s sci-fi on. Giant ants really caught my attention. Wasps,bees,dragonflies which to choose and which should I pick Novel, Short story, MICROFICTION.

Late out the office bloody meeting just to go over some sales figures. Working at WOODEN&HALL twenty years and still stuck on the second floor promised Diane when we married I would be at the top, what a joke and to top it off late home again. I pay the cabbie and run into the station grab a ticket and run up to platform 4. The tanoy buzzes," 10.45 to Market Milton please stand clear of the yellow line." A knife in my back I feel them search for a wallet, I start to die sorry Diane late again.