The red ball bounced rhythmically as the girl concentrated. Malcolm saw her through the rain-smeared glass and memories of his only daughter rose up menacingly.
When the disease took her, then his broken wife and then his own soul, Malcolm knew he could never feel again. She looked happy with the red ball; seams stretched around a shiny ball of happiness. He touched the brake slightly with his left foot then the urge overwhelmed him. Why her? Why not? The car didn’t stop. The shiny red ball bounced into a wet green verge and rolled on, watching from a distance. The red on the road wasn’t the same – no shine, no seams, no bounce, just slow seeping.
Categories: Just Stories