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Short story: Divorce

5 Nov

Last year, back when I was living in London, I wrote this short story, but I never did anything with it. I’ve just come across it on my laptop and decided that I should add it to the blog. It is the first and only one I’ve written, so I don’t know if it’s any good, but here goes nothing:

Shuffling past the endless row of bicycle frames, the distant glow of the underground guiding him along the murky back streets of East London like the Star of Bethlehem, the weathered pensioner pulled at his solid gold watch. An arctic wind bit at his exposed ears like a snarling wolf as he wrenched away forty years of fidelity, catching a half-formed tear in the crevices beneath his eyes. He clutched at his hood, covering his balding crown with woolly warmth, slipping his new treasure into his pocket as he did so. His jewellery, instead of being the proud companion of his left wrist, would now sit with the lint and dirty tissues that soiled his winter coat.

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