Memories from Another Time.


There was not much time left but, as always, still so much to do. The figure rushed across familiar meadows, ignoring the other walkers, picnickers and sleepers enjoying this fine, drowsy, summer’s day. It was only in the cool dark of the tunnel that he stopped, leaning against a wall in a near collapsed state, breath galloping away from him. Egads, he didn’t have time to rest. There was no time!

A voice purred out at him, whether from his memory or one of the many shrouded exits along his way he was not sure, “You’re late. You’re late!” A gleeful giggle and then a pause.

He hurried on, resolutely silent against this bait. He was indeed late, again, for a very important date. This time though, he would not meet any little, or large, girls; he would not be the cause of any mess, any death. Not this time.

He emerged into too-bright sunlight and then slowed reverently, passing through rows of exquisite red rose bushes. He did not stop to smell their aroma, or look at their petals.

He was late.
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