Anthony Probyn

The Final Meal

I felt a cold wind spiralling around my body whilst also being attacked by rapid drops of the stabbing rain as they pierce my soft skin. Synchronised beads of condensation began to trickle down from the house windows. It’s dark, and as I walk through the cold, the shape of dark elm trees, silhouetted in the backdrop create a haunting atmosphere. Their mighty shadows obscure the cobbled pathway leading to the house of Vince’s parents. The house is bleak, with rotting wooden planks peeking out in each direction. Leading up the porch, there is an old wooden staircase left with pale, frayed carpet laid down on the steps which have lost most of its colour due to the outside exposure in the sun and rain for so long.