‘It’s awesome, Mum – honestly. When you’re in freefall it’s like flying, and then the chute opens and suddenly you’re rising again like… like the sky’s drawing you up. If you knew how it felt you’d want me to do it.’
He looks at me, frowning, willing me to understand. I love him. The fear is all mine, not his.
‘OK then, Tom.’
‘Yesss.’ He springs up from the bench. ‘Mum, you’re bad!’
Oh, this upside-down language!
I come here most days. The metal plaque on the bench back reads:
Thomas Morrison, died 15 March 2014
About the Author
Having promised herself that she’d start writing when she finally gave up work (never too late to learn!), Mary began experimenting with short stories and flash fiction around two years ago. She is particularly fascinated by the exacting demands of the flash fiction form and has won several prizes for her work in literary competitions and story slams.
Published April 14 2015