The Gun

His heart was beating too fast. He took deep, slow breaths to try to try to slow it down and steady his shake. He stared at the gun, inside he was a mixture of hate and fear.

This was something he had to do. He had to keep this quiet, he couldn’t risk her finding out, the consequences were too terrible to consider and he couldn’t go through all that again.

It was as if in slow motion as his arm reached out and his fingers curled around the gun’s handle. His finger brushed the trigger and he paused. He had one go, one attempt, if he messed this up there was no going back.

He turned. The room was quiet, deathly quiet as though it was preparing itself. Finally, when he felt he was ready, he picked up one half of the china dog and ran the nib of the glue gun carefully around its broken edge.

Holding his breath again he put the gun down, lifted the head of the hideous dog and held it tight against the neck. He left it as long as he could before removing his hand and seeing the complete dog in his hand.

He stared at the hideous ornament his eyes focused on the join. It was almost invisible, his mother would never know. He was safe. Finally he breathed out and swore to himself that he would never play football in the front room again. No, he was never going to put himself through this again. There would be no more little 'accidents'.

He placed the ornament back on the shelf within the slight ring of dust that marked its original position. Finally he smiled, turned and saw the slight whisp of smoke coming from the scorched top of the wooden dining table where the hot glue gun sat weeping and accusingly.

The Hill

They sat near the door holding hands. They were silent, comfortable in each others company. Childhood sweethearts now long retired with a life of warmth and love behind them.

As the bus reached their stop and they began to stand he held her arm to help as he always had. Stepping off the bus they thanked the driver. Some of the younger passengers raised their eyebrows with the thought ‘why thank the driver, it’s just her job’. They were from a different age.

Slowly they walked down the streets they had known from their childhood. Memories flooded of their young selves. As they turned the corner they heard the noise of the playground. The evocative sound of primary school children with their unfettered joy, lives with little burden other than who is playing with whom as they once had been.

They sat on the bench and talked of their past as they gazed out over the field opposite the school with its contoured hills. The woods at the edges where they had spent so much time, at first innocently but subsequently experimenting and learning about each others bodies. Seventy years has passed but their fascination with each other survived.

The sun arced in the sky moving their shadows. Parents arrived to pick up their offspring. Conversations filled the air, arrangements made, gossip exchanged but all halted by the sound of the school bell signaling the end of the day.

Then the rush as the young and excited run to find their parent and the noise level jumps as days are explained and hopes for going to a friends house for ‘tea’ are negotiated.

The younger ones have already crossed the road and are rolling down the hill accompanied by giggling and shouting. Parents shout for them to come back and don't be so silly

Within an hour all is quiet, all the youthful energy departed and the last teacher gone.

‘Where did it all go?’ she says

‘The children?’ he asks

‘No,’ she smiles squeezing his hand, ‘the years.’

She opens the catch on her worn handbag. He looks down and sees the envelope from the hospital that first brought them the news. Alongside it is the bottle which she removes and turns to him.

‘Ready?’ she says

‘Ready,’ he replies.

Counted out into each others hands the little white tablets shared evenly, an echo of their lives.

Moments later they look into each others eyes. She sees him smile, a smile she has known all her life.

‘What?’

‘Do you know I wouldn’t change a single moment,’ he says and then his smile breaks into a broad grin.

‘What now?’ she asks with the affection brought from years of knowing what a grin like than means.

‘How about it, one last time, one last time, just as we began?’

‘You’re a silly old fool, she says standing and taking off her coat then laying it over her handbag. ‘A silly old romantic fool and I wouldn’t have you any other way.’

At the top of the hill they lay down and held each other. Then rolled, rolled down the hill their eyes locked together and giggling. Giggling as the years and their lives drift away.