Said she wasn’t there, she did.
Wasn’t in their prim house with ice-white nets and fog grey door. Was out shopping, dark sunglasses and coatless despite the wintry showers. Bread, milk, cheese: a list as banal as her colourless lipstick and uncut hair. Late 40s, my husband says. More like 50s, says me.
Said she heard nothing, she did
The shattering of glass, like crystal rain as he fell. Backwards. Stumbled against the slate hearth, blood seeping like crimson sap. Found him lifeless on the floor. Her scream loud enough to worry the nets. Sirens. Police tramping, knocking. Did we see, hear anything. No, I say, none of my business.
But I saw her. I did
Took her Amazon parcel round. The front door, it wasn’t closed properly so I opened it. The Yoohoo glued to my throat. In the other room, him towering and her cowering beneath his raised fist. The hammer making me sick. She got back to her feet, hands clutched to head, weaving like a dying leaf. I should’ve run, but I took the stairs and curled in a ball. Growling, threatening, menacing words following her as she left.
Silence.
I crept to the front door. But he saw me. What was I doing there? Shoulders back, I smiled. Door was open. Brought this round. That confused him. He backed into the living room. My hands shook as I put the parcel on the settee. How long you been there? He was right next to me, his stale breath stinging my nose. He lifted his hands. I panicked and pushed. Hard against his chest. He stumbled. Fell. I grabbed the parcel. A crescendo of splintering glass chasing me out.
Said she saw nothing, she did. But that look she gave me…
Relatively new to the world of flash, Deb - from South Gloucestershire, England - enjoys the punch of telling a complete story in just a few words.
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