Age

It was the ideal spot for a couple of retired gents to sit, reminisce and explore dreams they suspected never to visual.

Tucked into the far recess of the park, it afforded them privacy, away from the prying and sometimes mocking glare of young fit bodies strutting through the park.

They looked funny, though, panting and puffing after the short walk through the park. I guess at their age that counted as a serious session in the gym.

I carried on home, they stayed back stretching, trying to limber mummified joints. The same routine for over a year now.

I slept like a baby, they dug holes like moles.

I woke up with limber joints, exhilarated, ready to show the world my dreams.

They slept with tired joints, exhilarated, ready to realise their dreams.

Worth more than three million pounds of stolen precious stones each, the gents looked no different. They huffed and puffed, no one was the wiser.

Age, like a smoke screen disguised the truth, our minds reinforced the image.

Copyright Ady

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This story was inspired by the Hatton Garden robbery.

In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph was supplied  by Ady (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories.

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