100-Word Fiction: ‘For Years / Four Years’

On reflection it was perhaps youth and its restlessness that always took people away… corners turned, bridges crossed…

The real challenges come surreptitiously… almost… and seem little more than normalities. Is this the sign that caprice is being buried under the rubble of real change?

On Monday morning he wakes early and drinks coffee, trains, showers, gets dressed, breakfasts. Meetings are continuous: phone calls at the treadmill; documents and bacon.

Does it feel like years? It’s been four. He should have counted the hotels, delegations, the slices of toast. Somewhere it’s on record.

When it finally ends the exhumation begins.

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Author: MW Bewick

Writer of poetry and place; editor and journalist. Co-founder of Dunlin Press. 'Scarecrow', a debut collection of poetry is available now from http://dunlinpress.bigcartel.com

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