From Geoff Le Pard at Tangental in response to the photo prompt
Norman hadn’t been back to the Mill in 70 years. He shuffled forward but a hand restrained him.
‘Careful. No accidents.’
Norman nodded. ‘Martin.’
One man frowned. ‘Who’s Martin?’ A second said, ‘His brother. He died here, as a kid. Norman’s been asking to come for the last ten years.’
‘He’s not long left. It won’t harm, one final farewell.’
‘Does he understand?’
Norman had knelt down, tears streaking his cheeks. He looked at the men.
‘Poor old soul.’
Norman shook his head. ‘Me. I kill Martin.’ He made a pushing gesture with both hands. ‘Little shit.’