‘ “Take me with you,” She whispers at the window.’ – Kate Racculia – Bellweather Rhapsody
Sitting in her parlour, in the same cottage she’d grown up in over half a century ago, in another age, another time, Angela feels rather forlorn. The house reminds her of her Mother and Father, both long dead. Her brother, David, killed in a car accident when he was Nineteen, the marks on the wall to show how fast he was growing were still there in the hall. Her life was rather placid, no wild adventures, no crisis from which she could emerge a stronger person.
Hers was a life no one would ever have written about in a story.
The sun gradually descended towards the horizon, the sunshine gently diminishing.
“Take me with you”, she whispers at the window.
Ignoring her plaintive request, the sun passes nonchalantly on and the street lamps outside…
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