Dancing by Nick Couldwell

Jazz plays from Dad’s old record player downstairs. I hear him humming along, mumbling his words and swearing when he bumps into things. I sit up in bed and can’t believe my ears; the old man is dancing. I rip the blanket off and tip toe to the landing. I duck under the railing and look into the dingy lounge room.

2020 Microflix entry regulations – film awards