She thought of the dirty casserole dish she had left to soak in the sink.
She thought of the smell of lavender in her front garden, the bees drunkenly bumping against the flowers.
She thought of the last chapter of the book she had planned to finish that night, dragging out the ending so that the characters didn’t leave her too soon.
She thought of the meeting she was running late for, of the tutting mouths and tapped watch faces.
The one thing she didn’t think of was the impact. That simply happened before she had time to register it.
Leave a Reply