‘Are we still doing this?’ I asked.
Johnny smiled and took a nonchalant drag on his cigarette.
‘Why? You lot going all chicken on Johnny?’
I laughed an unconvincing laugh. ‘Course not, just getting late is all…and…’
Before I could finish Johnny had scrambled up and over the iron gate. Through the rusting bars I watched as he paused to light a fresh smoke. He then beckoned for the rest of the gang to join him.
Some of us followed, one or two didn’t. Even now, all these years later, I still regret the choice I made. Still feel guilty about what happened.
These words form this my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.
fromheretothere 