Prodigal

My stiletto heels clatter as I make the long walk down Lilac Close. Each clickety-click on the pavement is a step back in time. Suburbia closes in. The twitching net curtains ripple ahead of me, reaching number 36 long before I do.

I ask myself again why I’ve come back after all these years.

We lived in a shell of make-believe, pretending we were a happy family. My sister escaped and married. I fled as soon as I could. The last words my Dad said to me were ‘You’re a waster, you’ll be back.’

As I walk towards the gate I shake myself from my reverie, much has changed since then, mainly me.

This is it, the prodigal’s return. I take out my compact and check my lipstick, smooth my immaculate hair and straighten my pencil skirt. I spent ages deciding what to wear eventually choosing smart yet elegant.

There’s no turning back. I ring the doorbell and Dad opens the door, a puzzled look crosses his face as he struggles to understand. ‘Hello Dad can I come in?’ He stands aside as if in a trance but eventually calls to Mum.

 ‘Our William’s home, you’d better sit down.’

©Nita Lewsey 2016

Published by Nita Lewsey

I'm a writer of short stories, flash fiction and am currently working on a novel. I've had stories published in anthologies and self-published a collection on stories on Amazon. I dream of writing full-time in the future

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