Oily, black tears ran down his cheeks. ‘She’s still inside. Hurry. Please hurry,’ Bob screamed.
Bob and Joan Eastman had lived in that same cream house for over 50 years. Six children had been raised in its rooms – three of them were now Lawyers, one a Doctor. Now it was just Bob and Joan, but Joan hadn’t quite been herself since a stroke last winter, and Bob was struggling to cope.
I reached out and cupped his trembling hands within my own. As the medics ushered Bob towards the ambulance the faintest smell of petrol lingered on my fingers.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge