Sophie Flynn
flat white
The woman at the back of the
church was beginning to turn heads. Her words created a persistent rhythm;
sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. Subconsciously, people tapped
their feet in time to the beat.
The
church had been packed when she’d arrive so she’d had to push through.
Sorry, she’d said, sorry, as she wormed her way in, but then the
words wouldn’t stop; at first, she recited them under her breath, causing only
uncomfortable glances from those next to her. But as the vicar began to speak
about the boy’s once-promising future, tears pooling in his eyes, the words
became louder. And louder. They flew out before she could catch them, merging
with the sobs of the mourners, sorry, fighting against the words of the
vicar, sorry. Until finally, the vicar stopped; everyone turned.
The
chant rang out in declaration: Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry.
Sorry.
The
boy’s mother stood up, eyes searching packed pews until, finally, they landed on
the chanter. She hadn’t expected to see her here. She looked even older.
Thinner. Paler. Perhaps that’s what happens when you take a life; life must take
some of yours in return.
About the author
Sophie is from the Cotswolds and is currently working on her first novel
whilst earning a living as a copywriter and studying for an MA in Creative
Writing at Oxford Brookes. She tweets from https://twitter.com/sophielflynn
No comments:
Post a Comment