GONE.

Orders were to write a story of no more than 200 words, if you broke the rules you would be called a cheeky blighter and a bounder.

GONE.

The door swung open; his sister had returned. “Confirmed John, they booked the flight over a week ago, bastards”.

“I’m glad they have gone far away sis; what could we say to them”?

“What sort of bastards are you for starters”.

“I don’t feel angry, just a numbness”.

“I have anger, lots of it.

“To think I thought he was doing me a favour; keeping her company when I worked late. How naive, I thought I was putting him out”.

“Such a fucking mess John, what a scheming bitch”.

“I should have known it was too good to be true; why would a girl like her want me”?

“What! She is not fit to crawl in your shit; she doesn’t deserve to be on the same planet as you”.

“Not so loud sis mum will hear”

“Doctor gave her a sedative; he said she will sleep for a while”.

“I worshipped her; I don’t know what I could have done different”.

“Don’t you dare feel any guilt John; everything happened behind your back”,

“What was it dad used to say: ‘Always expect the unexpected’.

“He often said that, I wish he was here now; and not with your effing girlfriend”.