Darren (by Jamie Rodwell)Poor Darren Roffy, born with a hole in his heart. He wasn't the only one, either. Anna Pelicci had the same misfortune, although it never seemed as serious with her. We saw her as one of us, one of the normal kids. For a while there I even thought Anna and I might become something of an item, back in the time when kissing and holding hands were as good as it got (I can't pretend I wasn't scared of sex).
Darren received none of this unspecial attention. And why should he have?
I remember going to his house after school. He went into the kitchen and came back with two jam doughnuts, one of which I assumed was for me. But instead of offering to share, he sat there and ate both of them. Such displays were to live on in my memory, even till today; they've lasted a lifetime. Bit vague, that statement, I admit. Poor old Darren died young, so how long is a lifetime supposed to be?
He hanged his pet dog from the climbing frame.
He hit boys at school and we couldn't hit him back.
My dad went to the shop for Heinz, because he wouldn't eat the beans we had.
His parents would have known he was going to die before adulthood. And so it was he was cursed twice over. Doomed to live an unfairly short life. And doomed, by excessive tolerance (what else could we do?), to leave no happy memories.
[The short short story comp is announced and explained here.]