Sarah Milburn
Stories (2/0)
Moving On
When you deliver to the same houses on a regular basis you get to know people. You could tell if they've had a long week at work and just can't be bothered to cook or they're having friends round for a night of laughs, wine and pizza. You see those that are recently single, fending for themselves, the loneliness momentarily paused as you chat at the door. There are also those who never go out; hiding away from the world for a myriad of reasons, their only human contact the ones who bring food, parcels, essentials directly to their door. Then, there are those with a secret. Something they desperately want to share but can't. You can see it in their eyes; the often haunted look, the furtive glances along the street. They either look at you like they're trying to telepathically communicate or avoid your eye altogether. That's how I knew something had happened at 13 Limebeck Avenue. The usual cheery smile, the casual chatty flirting was replaced with secrets and fear, the only thing that was the same was the pizza order. I knew I had to help Ben, with his big brown eyes pleading with me to not make waves, while a shadow hovered in the background wanting to hear every word and ensure Ben didn't say anything he shouldn't. Delivering pizzas was easy. Understanding what went on in other people’s homes was not.
By Sarah Milburn2 years ago in Fiction
With love, Mum
Sifting through yet another box, Isabella paused to yawn and stretch her aching back. Her Mum was borderline hoarder. If Isabella found another bank statement from 2001 she would scream. The last lot of statements, invoices and receipts had gone up nicely on her new fire pit, but the neighbours would definitely be suspicious if she had another paper fire this week.
By Sarah Milburn2 years ago in Fiction