I hope you are well.
I started this short story during lockdown and finished it 6 months ago. It’s just shy of 2000 words long, so I’m going to post it in three parts.
It centres around a mid-thirties man named Richard. He is becoming slightly obsessed with the anniversary of a plane crash that happened in a park near him almost fifty years before. As he tries to get his friends interested, it becomes clear that he is using this to ignore some more pressing matters.
I’d appreciate your thoughts, and I’d be happy to return the favour. Apologies for grammar and punctuation errors this is a 3rd draft (I think)
Part One – Sunday the 12th December to Wednesday 15th December 2021
Sunday 12th December.
“Two football teams, playing on a Sunday morning at North Park almost fifty years ago, were tragically killed when a plane crashed into them. But, with each anniversary, it’s said that a dense fog covers the pitch, and from within you can hear them playing that fateful match. The fiftieth anniversary is next Sunday.”
“From within?” she said.
“Yeah. I thought it added something,” he said with a smile.
She rolled her eyes.
“Could you close the window? I hate the sound of cars from the main road.”
“I quite like it,” he said before closing the window.
“You told me this already, Richard. I’m late to meet Lucas.”
“Stay a little longer. Please? We’ve spoken about the crash for months. You were interested….”
“I’m not interested now. Lucas thinks honouring something you’ve no link to is stupid.”
Richard stood up from his settee.
“And what do you think, Lucy?”
He waited for the answer as she looked at her phone, stood up as it buzzed a few times, and wrote a reply.
“I don’t care. It’s stupid. You have no link to it, so why are you wasting your time, Dick.”
Richard walked to and opened his front door. Lucy’s eyes bulged before she regained her composure.
“We’ve been friends for years. In all that time, you’ve called me Dick once. And I told you then I didn’t like it, so you stopped. I don’t know who you are, Lucy,” Richard said as tears glossed over his eyes.
“I have to go,” she said.
Lucy walked by Richard and out of the door.
“I’ll miss you,” he said.
She stopped halfway up the driveway for a moment before walking away.
Monday 13th December.
Richard strained to push the covers off him as he sat on the edge of his bed. He stretched his arms before taking a deep breath.
“The whole day to myself. Hmm… the sun does rise later,” he said looking out of his window through the blinds. The night sky was total, and stars were looking back at him. He checked his watch.
“I thought I dreamt that,” he said.
As he realised the whole day had disappeared, his bottom lip quivered. The tears began to flow as he got back under the covers.
Wednesday 15th December.
“Falling from the sky and crashing into and killing all twenty-two players contesting the season’s final game. No fans were in attendance due to an incident the week before. The managers and staff managed to get clear,” Richard said.
His friends smiled or raised an eyebrow over their video call. Richard clenched his fist out of sight.
“Look, mate, you’re better off without her. We’re glad you’re up and about,” a friend said.
Richard tried to get them interested but instead just listened to them. His fist unclenched as he began to join in. In no time, the call ended.
Richard smiled and went up to bed.
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