FIREWORKS

 

FIREWORKS

He travelled to Town each day on the 7.43 train, his nose buried in the newspaper, discouraging any attempts at conversation.

She only went out once a week, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses, and scuttled home with her shopping as if the outside world terrified her.

Their house was silent except for the occasional muffled cry – probably the television, neighbours decided.

Then one day some paramedics carried out a shrouded stretcher.

That night a cacophony of fireworks and loud music roused the neighbourhood as she danced half-naked around their garden, waving a bottle of champagne.

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I had a completely different story in mind, but this one demanded to come centre stage, so I gave in!

Thanks to Ted Strutz for the photo, and to Rochelle for running Friday Ficitoneers from her blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/  from where you can follow the frog link to other stories.

I was delighted to note that I sold three books last month! Not many, agreed, but better than none. You can get your own copy of my latest book by clicking on the cover image at the top of this page.