“This is me?” I asked.
He smiled and nodded.
“Two-thirds of a pizza, a half-drunk glass of wine, my watch and some condiments?”
Again, that smile.
Tom told me once he picked through the rubble of the bombed village for an hour, arranging the detritus to compose his photograph. A frayed teddy bear from one house and, from another, a tin plate with a bullet hole.
“Wasn’t that lying?” I’d asked.
He replied it was revealing the truth.
“And the truth about me is?”
Tom hugged me and whispered “Maybe that you’re alone. Or maybe you changed plans.”
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on character and likeability