short story

The rhythmic thumping has always been there - familiar and strangely comforting. My space is diminishing. I stretch out and touch the walls. How long have I been here?

"Is any thing wrong?" Dora Marchant asked her friend who had sat through the Community Meeting with a glazed look in her eyes and a worried frown on her forehead.

"It’s a lovely day," John my ever patient husband said peering round the dining room door. "Couldn't you leave it and come to the park with us?"

"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." Oscar Wilde said. I am sure he was right. Take Dave and me. I fancied him from the word go. He was 6'2, blonde with a crew 4 hair cut, a perfect foil for my 5'4 and long dark hair. He was all man, firm pecs a tight bottom and footballer's knees. The latter because he played every weekend for his home team which didn't give me much of a look in - until last weekend.

Mrs. Tribble stood pensively for a moment before the gas stove, then turned to the living room to add matches to the shopping list that sat on the sideboard under the one eared china dog, she put on her striped woolly hat and threadbare coat, took the key from the hook on the wall and left the house.

The women sat knitting or mending stockings with fine hooks. Jeanette left the other children to watch fascinated