He paces on the cliff edge, wearing Dave’s leathers, not wanting to look over but feeling the need to. He touches the lemon candy that’s been stuck inside the pocket for eighteen months. He can always conjure the smells of motorbikes and citrus, but no longer the smell of Dave.
Scunthorpe-born Rob Walton lives in Whitley Bay, England. Short fiction and poetry for adults and children appears in various places. Micro-fiction in Blue Fifth Review, Gravel and 101 words in the USA, Flash Frontier (New Zealand), and various UK publications. This Poem Here (Arachne Press). Follow him on Twitter and Instagram.