Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Frankham House...a short story...

If I were here I would face so much. So much would be different from before. That is what I thought. So much that I feared I would confront. That is what I believed. So much would challenge me. That is what I hoped. And in my hopeful state I saw me rising above all the challenges that came my way. I would hurdle the challenges. A champion hurdler – that would be myself. In Deptford.

Yes. In Deptford.

Why in Deptford?

Because to my parents Deptford was hostile territory.

Slumming – my Mother said.

Slumming – my Father said.

They both talked to me about the slums of Deptford.

National Front and heroin addicts – they both said that. They talked to me separately. They used the same words – almost the same words. They had a script – or, that is how it seemed.

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1 comment:

  1. Greetings from the other side of Deptford Creek, and thanks very much for the mention - it occurred to me after posting the story that I should probably drop you a line to let you know, as there can't be too many stories set on the Crossfields Estate, but... as ever, I got sidetracked, and you beat me to it... but thank you, glad you liked it!