Boys

Three boys, running through a field.

I take the photo from the envelope and remember when it was taken. I know who they are.

Me, Mark and Matthew. I'm Luke. No Bible jokes please. I've heard them before. We were neither saints nor sinners. Or not then. We've all made up for it since.

We were tight. All the same age, even though I'm shorter. I always was the runt. They were like my brothers. We went everywhere together, lived on the same road, went to the same school. We weren't interested in cubs or cadets or anything poncy like that. We used to run through the streets, kicking a can, kicking a stone, kicking people's gates and listening to them shout as we ran off. We were the low level disruption collective with grubby knees, noise and inexhaustible energy.

We were a pain. But we were one. Do you know what it takes to break a brotherhood? Nothing as dramatic as marauders. It's simple.

A girl.

The problem started when Laney moved into our road. Oh, Laney. Bit older than us. We were only ten, Matt might have been eleven when she arrived. And after that we were never the same. Even now, I think of her and she sends me somewhere...

We all loved her and she knew it. Could play us all so well. Matt was the protective one, Mark was the funny one and I was the sensitive one. We all thought that we were the one, for her. She never told us otherwise.

We never meant for her to die that day. Never meant for her to fall, never meant for her to hit her head, never meant for her to sink beneath the surface of the quarry.

We were just kids messing about.

In her absence, almost instantly, our brotherhood reformed, joining up the wound she'd made, sealed with the secrecy of her going. We were questioned but we never told.

Her mum still lives here, Bethan. I see her. Hounded. That's how she looks.

And now this? Taken that day, of us, running down towards the woods by the quarry.

The one Laney took.

Someone remembers still. I wonder who?

***

366 words

A stand alone tale but I've sort of linked it to one that I wrote the other day, quite unintentionally, the idea only emerging when I started writing it. I found this picture the other day when I was looking for one for a different story and decided to save it as a prompt as something about it appealed.

There's an insight into my writing process for you. I basically wing it every day, writing on the hoof (although not bareback).

The story that this links to was published yesterday:

Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.

263/366