Why am I getting so upset? I don’t care about a little Argentinian who was good at kicking a ball about some grass. Why should I care that the signed shirt has to go?

But here I am, tearing up at a blank space on the wall. The paint on the wall has faded to leave a shadow where the frame used to hang.

‘Sell it,’ you told me from wherever you are now. ‘Memories are more important than things. Dad’s health is more important. It’ll fetch a good price. ‘

It won’t, of course, not enough anyway. It’ll pay for the next month of medical care but then we’ll be back in the same position. Only we’ll have nothing else to sell.

I’m wringing the blue-and-white striped t-shirt in my hands. I stare at it and realise it could be of some use after all. I take it to the bedroom where the oxygen machine hums, mixed with the weak, murmuring cough.

When it’s done, I rehang the shirt in the frame. A little creased, but no one will notice. The house is quiet, at peace. The constant hum has ceased.

The football shirt holds a new memory for me alone.


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Copyright Susan Spaulding

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit HERE.

To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

In case the double meaning of the title isn’t clear to any non-football fans, Diego Maradona scored a goal with his hand against England in the 1986 Football World Cup, that has become known as ‘The Hand of God.’ – Wikipedia

38 thoughts on “THE HAND OF GOD

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