The snow was turning to slush and melting away, the festive decorations hung limply. The long winter with little to look forward to stretched ahead, like the dark main street at dawn.
He liked walking around the town in the early morning. It reminded him of how it used to be. The old shop fronts, the sea audible in the distance, the solid castle overlooking the town.
This was what it was like before the tourists had started coming, before the gaudy lights, the high street chains and the overcrowded population.
The fluorescent jacket was the first glimpse that something would disturb his morning ritual. Then he noticed others standing around. As he kept walking the general noise grew.
Another demonstration. An abundance of British and English flags told him the nature and identity of the marchers.
His walk soured, he turned for home, where he would gather in the deliveries of bread, milk and papers. Mr. Patel would open his store as he had done every day for forty years.
When the English Defence League marched past he would stand at his door and stare at those hurling abuse. He would not turn away.
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Al Forbes. For more details visit HERE.
To read more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.
Iain Kelly 
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