100-Word Fiction: ‘If Just Who He Was’

We were trying to remember his name. Annie was finishing her wine and I had lit a cigarette; was wondering about brandy. I could hardly even picture him but Annie seemed to know. How could I forget? It was like seeing an old school photo and one of the pupils was blacked out in the picture. I couldn’t see him properly. Annie said he had died. It seemed possible that there could’ve been some tragedy. We hadn’t gone to his funeral though, not knowing him that well, she was sure about that. I so wanted to remember – a name, life.

Published by MW Bewick

Writer of poetry and place; editor and journalist. Co-founder of Dunlin Press. Books including Pomes Flixus, The Orphaned Spaces and Scarecrow are available from http://dunlinpress.bigcartel.com

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