‘Darling, there’s a girl sitting on our lawn.’
He went out. There she was; nine, perhaps ten, pigtails, party frock, pink ankle socks, shiny black sandals.
‘Can I help you?’ he said.
Not a flicker. Then a bustling woman, forcing her way through the fledgling privet.
‘I’m so sorry. Come on Charlotte!’
As they left, Charlotte dropped a tiny, crumpled note. He smoothed it out and read… Help Me.
Fifty years later she was there again; crew cut, bomber jacket. He sat in his wheelchair.
‘You never came,’ she said.
‘I’m so sorry.’ He returned the note. ‘Forgive me.’
#FLASHFICTION101 March 2021 SHORTLISTED ENTRY
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