A short piece of fiction about things that remain in your conscience long after the fact. Nothing will haunt you like a bad deed.
I remember you well, the dude with the hair and the funny smell. Yeah, you used to laugh a bit and cry a lot. When the boys came to play, you’d run off. Not quietly like a Ninja. But loud and wailing like a monster pained by white fire.
I remember seeing you with those bags. Then, I had a flashback, and you were on your knees. Communion, but swap the wafer for my boot and the wine for your blood. Those bags were heavy. Your face shifty, like a thief. Those bags were really heavy. You could fair shift with them though. Who’d have thought it? Like Usain Bolt on supermarket sweep.
Have you ever seen a car hit a bird? Feathers everywhere. That was you running with them bags. No feathers though, just toilet rolls and slices of bread bursting from their plaggy packaging, littering your wake. Tins of no frills beans bouncing into the gutter, as you run like the wind, with eyes widened by sheer terror. You ran well mate. You could have been a contender if anyone had given you a chance.
Back to the communion, sorry about that. It was a flashpoint, a moment, a turn. I don’t know what came over me. Sorry won’t help though, will it? It won’t silence that scream, and it won’t make those bags any lighter. How are you doing anyway? Yes, I remember you well. Only because I couldn’t forget you, even if I tried.
I know this one is a bit dark, but if you have enjoyed it, please consider sharing it – Karma and my badself will thank you for it. The buttons are on the right, thank you kindly.