Memory Lane

The city break had been Tracy's idea and while Ray would have preferred to spend the time loafing at home or pottering about, fulfilling the never-ending list of household chores and DIY fixes that an older home required, he knew that keeping her happy meant less hassle for him and so, he complied.

"Look at its name, Ray!" she exclaimed as they walked down yet another "quaint little street" as she called it but which Ray viewed as an overbearing pokey alley with limited light and appeal.

"Memory Lane! Shall we take a trip down it?" She giggled as she put her arm through his. Ray expanded his features into a semblance of acquiescence and they walked into the dark recesses of the narrow street together.

Ray wasn't sure if it was his imagination or whether the black and white historical houses with their crooked roofs and asymmetrical windows were leaning in over him and stealing the light. He suddenly felt very intimidated, but he looked around and saw the shop displays and the plain doors leading to the flats above; the clusters of escaped napkins and crisp packets which the wind whipped away and trapped in gutters; the smell of the city, food and rubbish and drains - a heady cocktail of aromas.

The smells, he would remember later, had caused the trip down "memory lane", transforming it from adventure into darkness.

It was the butchers', the warm smell of the meaty baked goods, pasties and pies, reaching his nostrils and transporting him back to when he had walked in on Granny and her mincer. He had only been four, maybe five years old.

Granny was a product of the war-time era where no food was wasted. Powdered egg and ration books had been a staple where meat wasn't, so any that came her way was made into sustenance.

When Ray had blacked out on Memory Lane and Tracy had tried to revive him, his mind had just recalled the time where Granny was cutting up roadkill deer that Jim next door had supplied, so she said. Only there were considerably more toes than those on an ungulate.

Ray had a salad sandwich for lunch.

***

366 words

I have been doing a lot of travelling and as a result, I am having to play catch-up, hence the late arrival of this one today. Also, last night, I spent a wonderful night in London and I will be telling all about that in due course, so no spoilers here. But I am tired. The writing streak though? That's more important than Sunday dinner and we are having ungulate of the bovine variety; at least, I sincerely hope so.

I wrote this macabre little number after a perusal at this website, great for prompts if you don't have time to muse:

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

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