Prince


Prince died the same day as my dad.

Usually, it’s not important. But when we held a séance to contact Dad, Prince materialised instead.

Mum was pissed when Prince turned up. She really needed to speak to Dad. She wanted his blessing to marry this plumber, Giovanni, she’d been seeing.

Prince levitated around the lounge, all trippy eyes and poodle perm like in ‘1999’. We tried exorcising him, but he wouldn’t go. Eventually, we just gave up and left him there.

Weeks later, I noticed Mum had stopped talking about wedding plans. She’d stay up late dancing and giggling. Before long, she’d started sleeping in the lounge.

Giovanni challenged Prince to a duel and that evening, Prince disappeared.

Mum married Giovanni, but I still catch her humming ‘Raspberry Beret’ when he’s not around.


Jo Withers writes short fiction from her home in South Australia. Recent work is featured or forthcoming in Xray Lit Mag, Milk Candy Review, Spelk and Best Microfictions 2020. Jo occasionally tweets @JoWithers2018

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