The Silence

by Daisy Pearce

On the train, early Sunday morning; the tube is full of black-eyed revellers with sour morning breath, ravaged and blinking in the sunlight like released hostages.

Peonies the colour of antique silk, hand-tied. They’re beautiful. My throat swells with emotion at them: how fragile they are, how short their brief lives.

Here’s the thing about being an only child. One day it all falls to you to keep everyone going.