His heart racing, Philip pressed his ear against the wood. The sob came again: aching and abandoned. In the dark of the alleyway Philip trembled, his blood pulsing in his ears as a man with the crowbar looked on. “Move along, there’s nothing to see.” Still the blood pumped loud, Philip’s heart thundering. Another sob whispered at the wood, a scream following, trapped within. “I said move along.” There was a slap of metal against flesh. Philip’s tear-stained eyes closed tight, his warrant card clattering to the floor. Slowly, he turned and stepped away.
(c) Tim Austin 2016
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