Story prompt from 100 word stories blog archive (and why is it that so many of these seem to be written in anticipation of slasher/murder tales, or at least a goodly dollop of tomato sauce being involved??) was thus:
Laid up with a broken leg you look out of the rear window of your apartment and see…
I’m never here during the day, on weekdays. Their rhythm is something I’ve never been here to notice. The stop-start burr of the postie’s motorcycle. Mrs Holt takes her yappy pug for a walk at eleven o’clock – I hear them in the corridor.
Laid up with a broken leg you look out of the rear window of your apartment and see…
I’m never here during the day, on weekdays. Their rhythm is something I’ve never been here to notice. The stop-start burr of the postie’s motorcycle. Mrs Holt takes her yappy pug for a walk at eleven o’clock – I hear them in the corridor.
But in the back garden of the next door house, under a shadesail, an older man is restoring a sixties Ford. He has tools laid out carefully, and from what I can see of the car, much to do. If I open the window, I think I can hear him whistling, but I don’t know the tune.
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