by Kathryn Ratzko
The photographs were the hardest, the need to cull so many memories.
Her grief felt like that time in the playground, the eclipse, the disc of the moon covering the sun, the strange absence of light, of birdsong, the sense of unreality.
She pulled another box towards her, and there was her childhood in black and white, long-forgotten friends, Mrs Insley smiling in the 1961 class photo. She lifted it out, remembering how the kindly teacher had come to stand beside her as darkness had fallen – had sensed her distress. She reached for her bag and carefully placed it inside.
Author: Kathryn Ratzko completed a Certificate in Creative Writing with York University after retiring ten years ago. She has been long-listed, short-listed and highly commended in flash fiction and poetry including Flash 500, Retreat West and Grindstone Literary. She lives in the Cheshire countryside with her husband.