Miss Take

Missy was all about stuff. Looking for stuff, gathering stuff, organising stuff and dreaming of ways to procure more of it.

If anyone was having a clear out, she was onto it. “I’ll take that”, being her catchphrase. A broken lampshade left on the street – “I’ll take that”. A friend giving away an art easel with sticky oil paints – “I’ll take that”, despite having no intentions of ever painting. Leftovers at a potluck dinner “Ok if I take that?” while simultaneously whipping the half-eaten cherry pie into a Jiffy bag.  

Although she sulked about her nickname Miss Take but could hardly argue with it.

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All-in

“Do you remember… our games?” the old man struggled to speak. “I used to call you… Miss Fortune”.

On his first night at the casino, he was eager to play with the money his father gifted him. That’s when they first met. That night, as all nights that followed, she wore red: a slim-fit dress, high heels, and vibrant lipstick to match it. She was the goddess who joined them, mere people.

“Sure,” Miss Fortune replied, sitting beside his bed in the hospital. “And you were right.”

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