The small frail old lady was sat in her usual comfortable pea green patterned armchair opposite the large picture window overlooking her pride and joy – her garden. She was wearing that same familiar friendly smile. I could tell she was pleased to see me and my sister. Then her smile froze. She simply said, “What’s wrong?” “Peter” was my reply. Have you ever heard a wounded animal cry out loud? No it was more than a cry. It was a noise I had never heard before and have no desire to hear again. It seemed alien. It was surreal. The noise started low and deep in the very innermost of her being. It gathered force rushing to escape through vocal chords then open lips.…
6 CommentsStephen Bentley - Writer