I went round to the back of the house.
When I was sure that nobody was looking, I let myself in and went straight upstairs.
The helmet was still there under a pile of stale old clothes in the corner of the little room.
I was tempted to try it on, but advances in forensic genetics meant it was no longer memorabilia but a distinct liability.
No one must discover what we did all those years ago.
I stuffed it hurriedly into the bag, zipped it up, and left as discretely as I had arrived.
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly Flash Fiction challenge curated by Rochelle Wisoff Fields. This weeks prompt is © Douglas M. Macilroy.
I’m so sorry my fellow Friday Fictioneerers, my cellular connection is so meagre that I am unable to read your stories until I get back next Monday from my travels in Scotland.