“Do you remember the good old days before the ghost
town?”
“Good old days?” said
Beenie, flicking his ring pull into the bushes. I swear he was addicted to that
Tizer stuff. “That’s a laugh. Three day weeks, no power, no bin collection. You
see better places on the news. Those kids covered in flies are better off than
we were.”
“I don’t reckon they
had Tizer.”
We walked along the
train tracks, nettles brushing our legs. We were going to Guildford, but the
next train weren’t until Thursday, so we decided to hoof it. Beenie nipped into
the bushes for a slash. That’s when I saw it.
A duffel bag, zipped
up with a lock on it. I walked over, didn’t think of what I might be getting
into. I smashed the tiny padlock with a stone and unzipped it.
Three hundred and
thirty seven thousand, two hundred and forty –five pounds sterling.
I didn’t know that
then, of course. I just knew I had about twenty seconds before Beenie came
back, doing the flies up on his 501s.
I zipped it up again.
Picked it up, threw it into the bushes, and made a note of the number on the
marker by the track that said where we were.
This could change
everything.
* * *
Do you want to see
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see your story on our featured ‘Flash Fiction Friday’ post. Stories should
under 300 words, of any genre and not be overly offensive. Include a brief
(under 30 words) biog, and don’t forget to include web and social media
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but if you haven’t heard back within six weeks, we won’t be able to use your
story. Image: Robert Linder http://www.sxc.hu/profile/linder6580
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