AFTER THE STORM

 

AFTER THE STORM

Once the storm had passed, Lewis surveyed the wreckage. The whole thing lay in ruins, irretrievably broken.

He picked up a chair, remembering how the two of them used to sit happily watching the sunset, a bottle between them.

That was the cause of tonight’s trouble – after they’d finished one bottle he’d asked her for another, and she’d accused him of treating her like a waitress. She shouldn’t have spoken to him so disrespectfully.

He fetched the bottle for himself and sat down to drink, watching the calm waters of the bay, which gave no clue to what lay beneath them.

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Despite keeping track of Rochelle on Facebook, I have neglected FF, but now I am back again. During this hiatus my writing has shrunk to tweet-size stories and poetry. My Twitter tag is @young_liz if you'd like to read any of them. I have also published a small book of poems dedicated to my husband, who died unexpectedly last year.

You never gave me diamonds: Amazon.co.uk: Young, Liz: 9798846862364: Books