A very short story written in a very short time at this afternoon’s Maccwriters’ workshop
It’s ten to nine.
Time stopped for Daniel at that precise moment.
They’d argued and left late as usual.
And then they argued some more about the route.
You can always take a black cab, Daniel said.
You could always get a job, she countered.
Bottom of the Lower Falls, Divis flats.
Ran a red light. No one gave a shit, sirens everywhere.
Upper Ligonel. Another Ulsterbus on fire.
Christssake, said Daniel, it’s not even the fuckin’12th.
It’s the 12th every bloody night she said, filing her nails.
Aye yer right, he sneaked a sideways glance at her. Christ, she was beautiful, even more so when they’d rowed and made up.
She returned his smile. It stayed on her face longer than the sniper’s bullet that killed her.
Ten to nine.