The Lions Eyes – (Short Story)


I was walking across the Forbury Gardens, under the war memorial lion, when I saw two men trying to kill each other over a set of golf clubs. One guy was skinny, malnourished, in grubby shorts. He was fighting, but being beaten by a man in a pinstriped suit – this business man grabbing an iron from the golf bag and landing two serious hits on the skinny man’s chest. The impact of metal on bone went thudding out across the grass.

A police siren howled, cops voices yelled. The skinny guy turned and fled, disappearing in a few seconds. I kept walking, past the victorious pinstriped man, who was laughing to himself. I went though the iron gates, down onto the Forbury. The skinny man was hiding there, trembling, with blood on his shirt. The loser. But he made me listen to the story. Read more of this post

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