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Weekly Contest #341
Mud had already scuffed my brand new clothes. And memories flooded my mind, weighing me down. Even before I sat on the worn out sofa.“Come on, Paul,” said my Dad. “You’ve barely touched your beans on toast. What’s the matter with you? Used to be your favourite.”“He’s got fancier tastes now, Dad,” said my brother. “Paul only eats foie gras.”“What’s foie gras?” asked my sister.I interjected, “No idea, I’ve never had it.”I hadn’t been back to Yorkshire for a while. It wasn’t just my family who had noticed. The neighbours all came out onto their...
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