Flash Fiction / Writing

The Room by L.A. Murphy

Mummy won’t let me move from my seat. She keeps holding on to my legs when she sees them wiggling. We’re near the front of the room we’re in, but there are many people dotted around us in rows. Flowers line the walls and give off a sweet smell that reminds me of our big garden at home. There are big windows at the front, letting in the light of the Summer’s day outside. I like the room. I don’t think anyone else does, they all look sad. Some are even crying.

My Granny is stood at the front of the room, she has her back to us. I’ve been wondering for a while now why she keeps looking into the big box. She holds her mouth,she looks like she’s going to vomit. Today  my Granny’s wearing black, Granny never wears black. I want her to wear the big, fuzzy jumpers that I like to cuddle into while she reads to me.

I hear voices,echoes around me, people whimpering and suddenly a thought comes to me.

Where’s Daddy?


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