Martin peers through the swollen slits of his eyes.
Above him, the branches of a sycamore tree shift uneasily against a pearl grey sky, while his ears ache from the screeching of a dozen or more rooks, each registering their strident outrage at this intrusion beneath them.
The leaves surrounding him rustle as he tentatively flexes his fingers, wincing in pain.
They’d been big lads, from the sink estate north of the town, out for some fun in the suburbs, and he’s always been high on their agenda.
Not all bad news though.
This time his violin is way beyond repair.
Sorry to be late to the party; I’m always slightly flummoxed by musical prompts and this week was no exception. But today I’m celebrating the return of unlimited broadband, (oh deep joy!) so I couldn’t miss, even though it’s not a very inspiring piece. Thanks to Rochelle, the leader of the happy band of Friday Fictioneers once more, and good luck for the interview. Knock ’em dead!