She’s caught glimpses of him all day, dodging behind hanging rugs, peeping from dark alleyways.
She’s unconcerned; it’s happened many times before. Her therapist describes this as working through the grieving process.
She’s never heard him before though; that’s something new, that low insistent voice.
“Go with the flow,” her therapist says, “see where it takes you.”
It took her to a grassy knoll on the outskirts of the market, where she watched the silver arrow streak across the sky.
It afforded an excellent view of the carnage caused when the missile found its target.
Late to the squares this week – couldn’t finish the story before we left for our last gym session before the lock down, tried when I returned, power cut intervened, and then internet wouldn’t reconnect. Maybe I should have just gone for a lie down instead… Thanks to Rochelle, for her consistent and reliable leadership of Friday Fictioneers.