By guest writer Ken Armstrong
JOHN’S bride placed a band of gold on his finger but it was too big. In arguments, it often flew off across the room.
Over the years, John’s fingers thickened. The ring embedded into his fleshy digit. If he left the gold on his finger overnight, he would invariably wake up at 3.05am. Tugging wildly at it. Damaging tender fat. Screeching.
They found the ring in his wallet after he died and decided he would be happier wearing it. It was tight but it went on. John was safely interred.
As was the norm, at 3.05am, he woke up. Screeching.
©Ken Armstrong 2016