The hooks of wire hangers click and scrape along the metal bar. They are question marks rising from the collars of second-hand sweaters and blazers. Is it here? Is this the one?
The corridor is deserted, halfway between bells. Closed doors deaden the sounds of laughter, a shout, singing.
She’d donated his blazer without a care when his wrists shot away from the cuffs like shoots springing out of the ground. Pulled out. She gathers the black material in her hands and kisses the washing label where he had carefully inked his name.
A relic of a life lost, recovered.
This story won Second Prize win the April 2021 Monthly Micro Fiction competition.
About the author: Joanne is a writer of mid-nineteenth century historical fiction, represented by the Kate Nash Literary Agency. She loves writing and reading flash fiction ahas recently been longlisted by Retreat West and Reflex Fiction.