I recently went to Lynton & Lynmouth to catch up with my friend @thefairyjo, who I met at a creative writing group. After lunch, cake, ice cream, and a walk up a big hill, we sat down to write something inspired by our day out. Here is mine:
He stopped as he reached the door. It had been so long. Would he still be welcome? He looked up for guidance, and saw the angels smiling upon him. He had always admired the stained glass windows, ever since he first came here as a child. He liked the colours and the stories they told. The morals they instilled in him from an early age.
He reached out to open the door. Slowly. Morals he had let slip. Some faded away, but most coming back. That’s why he was here. To come back home. To see the faces he knew and seek forgiveness. The doors opened slowly, the creak of the hinges long and drawn out. People’s attention turned from the door to the man now holding it open. They were the same faces, but had changed.
The town butcher had grown older, his daughter had grown up. He tried to remember. Two years? Three? Three, she wasn’t four years younger, but seeing her grown reminded him of his own age. All eyes watched as he walked down the aisle. The hard part was over, but he still needed courage. Courage which came from the man behind the altar.
“A pint of ale”, he said. “And the strongest whiskey you have.”