Thanks to the goose that lay golden eggs, Jack was a rich man, but bored with running a restaurant. There was no adventure in linen tablecloths and napkins folded just so. He was annoyed with young knights who bragged and a wife who nagged, and children who were probably his, but what a pain. Jack imagined that the giant was still out there, ready to come for him. Each night he stormed around his mansion, slamming doors and opening windows. “I’m an old man now,” he shouted. “Sorry I stole your goose!” And the night said, “Fee, fi, foe, fum.”
Linda Lowe’s stories and poems have appeared in The New Verse News, Tiny Molecules, A Story in 100 Words, Star 82 Review, and others.
