The Helmet

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.

8 Replies to “The Helmet : Friday Fictioneers”

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