At a Crime Writers’ Day with Louise Phillips at Carousel Creates, we were set a challenge – we had 10 minutes to write a short piece & the prompts were ‘bad weather’ and ‘old contacts’.


I spun around and almost gave myself whiplash before I even knew what was happening. My cursing about the idiotic choice to leave the car at home stopped. I gave up my failing attempts to shelter from the driving rain. In fact at that moment, if you’d asked me if it was raining I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.

It was definitely him.

The sight of him always did that to me. Stopped me in my tracks, made my surroundings disappear until only his presence existed.

It was 17 years since it had last happened. 17 years since the last time he held my hand, stroked my hair and told me that everything was going to be ok.

17 years since he’d smiled at my father, danced with my mother and invited himself in to my bedroom.

I demanded to know – is he back? Why, why is he back?
But then we never found out why he left.

I was cold, so very cold.


2 thoughts on “Cold

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