(Summer 2003)

The sea was still and even from this spot, high on the cliffs, there was nothing to see for miles. The birds hovered, uninterested in the two small figures bellow. Joey looked up at the birds, he liked birds, they flew like Peter Pan. But on days like this, when the cliffs of Suffolk looked more like dark walls of doom, Joey didn’t feel much joy. The clouds had been out all day and there had been a lightning storm the night before. That was all these two lads needed on such a day as this! Rick looked out to sea, with tears in his eyes. He missed his father so much!
“Very strange, don’t you think Rick?” Said Joey trying to make a conversation with his big brother.
Rick didn’t answer. He was thinking too much about their father. Their father was Richard Phillips and he was dead. He had drowned eight years before when Rick was two and Joey was still in the womb. Neither boy knew that much about him. Joey never saw him and Rick had only one strong memory. It was this memory that Rick was thinking of. Joey loved his brother, but sometimes he could be a little stubborn. Joey had wanted to mark their fathers passing with a bunch of flowers, picked from their garden. This would have been a great thing, he reasoned, since their father loved nature, his pictures said so. But Rick didn’t like that idea, he wanted to come here and cry! ‘How stupid’ Joey thought, but he had kept himself quite. He didn’t want to add insult to injury, not to his brother! Both boys had sat for many hours, looking at their fathers pictures. Preserved by their mother in frames that looked more like ancient owls in a misty haze – Mrs Phillips didn’t want to draw any attention to the fact that her husband was dead – Still Rick and Joey could not get enough of their happy father. His smile lighting up the atmosphere of every moment that they spent with him. Christ! This little wooden shack needed a little brighting up.
The Phillips household was one of those no go places for local kids. It was a place for weirdos. Like the Phillip brothers. No intelligent youth would venture beyond the wooden gates at the end of the driveway. The fence was old and had weeds crawling up it. It was low enough for people to see in. This was the worst thing in the world about living here. Since Joey and Rick couldn’t go out into the garden for fear of stones being thrown at them by local children. The windows of the house, shattered several times by rocks, were now triple glazed and strong. But this only contributed to the sissy nature of all who lived inside…

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2017 Sam Shooter

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