another tight piece of writing put out by the Pygmy Giant.

The Pygmy Giant

by Bob Jacobs

I’m ironing in the front room when the television screen goes blank. Tom huddles into the corner of the sofa sucking his thumb. Ellie’s hand pauses in mid-air clutching a crayon. We wait, expecting the picture to return.

The light on the iron is dead. “Power cut,” I tell them.

Tom sucks and waits. “Terrorists,” Ellie says.

“I don’t think so, darling.”

“They’ve blown up the power station. Samantha’s dad said they would.”

“There’s nothing around here for terrorists to blow up, Ellie.”

“Samantha’s dad is a teacher. He knows everything.” Case proved, Ellie’s crayon sweeps back and forth across her drawing. “It’s the Muslims,” she adds.

“Ellie! Not all Muslims are bad.”

“I know,” she says. The crayon hovers. “There are good Muslims and bad Muslims. The bad ones are terrorists.”

“There are good and bad non-Muslims too, you know.”

Ellie colours in her drawing while…

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