100-Word Fiction: ‘Three Candles’

*
Late on in the evening – and a man walking somewhere, wrapped in his own world, humming a tune. The way that he moved, you could tell what he was like as a little boy. A big boy now with his puffer jacket and trainers.

* *

Coming back from the pub on a clear cold night in November and the sky is a canopy of candles, a cathedral with it’s roof arcing to infinity.

* * *

I am awake and from across the houses I hear a neighbour’s voice. He is shouting into the dark, something indecipherable, yapping at the night like a dog.

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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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