FICTION: Mrs Webber by Daniel Soule

The sun is a memory that wakes me every morning, a child with an eye at the crack of the door to see if I am awake. But it is spring so it is not too early, and my aching knee would wake me anyway.The nights can be long and uncomfortable, but I always get over in the end and have a few hours of sleep. Plenty really. I open my eyes, such as they are now, and the dust particles dance in the sunbeam. I watch them play, children dancing around each other in the park, screaming and laughing. My boy Hans was like that. We’d take him to the swings. “Higher, Papa, higher,” he’d shout, throwing back his head giggling madly, playing with the edge of his fears. Good days long gone. So to the present and that aching knee.

It has been worse. I shall walk it…

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