Short short story 66

Come Out to Play (by Tom Freeman)

The kid ran through the back door. He was a big kid, big for his age, which was five.

He knew that five was not all that old, but he knew too that he was smart, and he was in a great mood. He just had to show his mum the new game he'd made up. It was lots of fun and not that hard to learn; she would love it, and love him all the more. They'd play it for a while, and when he won, she would clap and cheer, and his prize would be some coke and crisps.

He looked in the front room, but she was not there. He called out for her, and did not wait for her to call back, as he raced back through the hall. There were some notes on the pad by the phone, out of his sight, and a pen with the top left off. He laughed at the thought of the game.

The sun was bright and it was hot out, but you had to play the game out there. He had the ball and the sticks all set up in the right way, next to the hole he'd dug. He could show her how it worked.

Upstairs, she was next to the bath, on the floor, on the wet tiles, still.

The kid ran up the stairs, with his game in his head, all set to go.