The village hall was claustrophobic – or maybe just hell – with sweat-stained air and bodies pressed too tightly together. Angry voices rung out like cannon fire across the sea of people, their collective noise mixing with the salt tang to complete the backdrop to the perfect storm, which was still only just beginning.
His official part in the proceedings done, and fed up of ranging about the emptied crime scene, Tom had snuck into the back of the hall to see if he could find out any information about the death. His knees still bore traces of blood from the butchered body, and his mind was full of the gore and horror of what he had helped to tidy away, when a well-known hand descended on his shoulder, making him jump.
“This has been a long time coming, you know, dear – he never took the hint and left, even after all the things we tried – he should have gone before now.”
Tom tried to hold it together as the bottom dropped out of his world.
Thank you, dear Ivy, for this week’s prompt of ‘range’.
Try your hand and come join the fun with the Six Sentence Stories gang.
As for this little tale…we’ll see where it goes, if the prompts allow.