Creative Writing, OldVenue

Plastic Bags

It’s five am and empty in the car park except for two children. They
hold plastic bags behind them like wings and run in the wind. Air
and light fill the bags and they are illuminated.

Their feet pound on the concrete and they laugh so much it hurts.
Swooping round the car spots, the girl’s ankle buckles underneath her
and she falls to the floor. She spends a while picking out the little bits
of grey grit from the gash then sits hugging her legs. She looks up.
It’s nearly light.


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