Inside our old wooden club house, that slumbers besides our rural tree lined tennis courts, alone on a shelf, rests an ancient school handbell.Over the years, with sun beaming down and birds singing in the trees, when our bell has rung, we have stopped playing for a minute's silence in memory of one of us who will play no more.
Now, as I grow old and struggle towards that ever faster bouncing ball, I know soon the bell will ring out again, loud and clear, but that day I will not hear, for it will toll for me.
Rob Hopcott
Enjoyed this? You may also enjoy Saying Goodbye Hurts.
This short postcard fiction tennis club handbell story is copyright Rob Hopcott 2008, all rights reserved. All characters and places in this flash short postcard fiction tennis club handbell story and other free on-line humor, short stories, flash fictions, micro-fictions, sudden fictions, post card fictions or very short stories on this site, are fictitious and no reference is intended to any person or organization, living or otherwise.
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