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by Rowanr Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Contest · #2265767
Entry for writer's cramp...
         ‘Man, 25, killed in late-night balcony fall.'
         The cat stared at Howard.
         ‘Yeah, I know.’
         The cat stared at Howard.
         ‘Yes. I know. He was still a kid. It’s a tragedy.’
         The cat seemed to narrow its eyes. Howard turned back to his laptop.
         ‘Three days before we moved in!’
         The cat blinked. Slowly. And resumed staring.
         ‘What?’ said Howard.
         But he was already scanning the text.
         ‘Party, drinking, 3 AM, screams, diligent neighbours, attempted to resuscitate, pronounced dead, biomedical, bright future, loved by his… yeah, yeah.’
         The cat was even stiller than usual.
         ‘Well who isn’t, huh? Give me a break. You can talk about cold. You can!’
         Beneath the text was a photo of his street with two fire engines parked across it. The pavement was taped off with blue and white tape. The yeasty yellow paint flaked off the faces of the buildings that lead to the sea at the end of the road. They were tall regency houses, all of them portioned into bedsits or single-occupancy rooms with kitchenettes and shared bathrooms, all of them owned by London-based investment firms registered in the Caymans, all of them mouldering. Howard counted black car, blue car, recycling bins.
         ‘Three doors down.’
         The cat licked its paw, smoothed its ear, and stared at Howard.
         ‘Three days, three doors, three AM! For a black cat, you’re very superstitious.’
         He chuckled and looked about the flat at the cardboard boxes and dusty guitar and pile of books and clothes hanging on doors.
         'I need some air.'
         The wind blew hard from the sea and tasted of salt and iron. Howard thought it smelled of great distances and great adventures, of a rawer, harsher life elsewhere. A life without elecricity meters you top up with disposable cards from the estate agents. There were wilting flowers in plastic cones tied to the railings beneath the balcony three doors down. Someone had left a candle in a jar that had filled with rain. Someone had left an empty bottle of cough syrup. Leaves were already forming a drift where the pavement had been swept and washed.
         Howard walked until the sun went down and turned around and walked home in the dark.

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