By guest writer Louise Stokes
SHE was tired. Eighty two years tired. Some days she relived moments of those eighty two years of faded memories. Tonight, she decided, she would remain in the here and now.
“It is very important,” she spoke the words quietly to herself, her well used voice as delicate as tissue paper, “that I stay in the present. After all,” she chuckled softly, “I don’t want to go and lose myself in 1983 now do I?”
She plucked impatiently at the duvet, irritated by its modernness, then closing her eyes, she stilled her hands and for the last time, fell asleep.
©Louise Stokes 2016