The Motspur, microfiction by Victoria Melbourne at
Charles Etoroma

The Motspur

The Motspur

written by: Victoria Melbourne


Just look at them… so conforming, uniformed and serious. I know they are confused by me, and if they were honest they’d say they detest me. I represent everything they find abhorrent; free will.

‘Go right’ the woman indicates with a jerk of the handlebar, and instinctively the three of them swing right in unison. Responsive and eager to please. I have no such desire to please. I care not if this woman wants to go right. I refuse to be dragged with them just because there is more of them than me. I stop myself from turning. Fasten hard into my caster. The more the woman pushes the other three, the more rigid I become.

They scream at me to move, to turn right, to adhere to the rules set out for us, but I can tune them out. All I hear are Christmas songs and the tannoy asking for help in aisle 3. Then I realise I’m in aisle 3…. I’m the problem….


*   Motspur – the dodgy wheel on a shopping cart

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