Below is a piece I submitted for a Flash Fiction entry a while back for Lily Childs' Feardom. It came up in conversation with some friends down the pub this weekend and I was surprised by how choked up I still feel when I think about it. Anyway, I thought I would place it here amongst my musings for you to read. Fortunately the story is fiction. Loss Each day is more wretched than the last. Sipping shot after burning shot of whisky dulls the pain but it cannot change the past. "Daddy, come play with my cars." "In a minute" I shouted from the kitchen as I munched on my cereal. "Now Daddy" "In a minute Stephen" I didn't realise he could open the front door on his own. I didn't realise until I heard the sirens.