The Firework Display (A short story). ( Archived) (7)

Matty - the oldest member, was staring wistfully into the distance as I took a seat next to him. I remarked on the golf course now framed by a beautiful reddening sunset and looking quite its best.

“Aye lad, it’s a beautiful now, but it wasn’t always like this - In my teens, I began walking out with the most beautiful girl, her name was May-Ellen. One day we were walking way in yonder hills. It was a lovely day and we were hand-in-hand taking in the scenery and talking ninety-to-the-dozen, those were innocent days when even a kiss wasn't given lightly.

We got off the beaten track and decided to make our way back home. I decided to try a shortcut, May-Ellen had promised her parents that she would be home by 5 o'clock, and we'd lost track of time. The short cut proved to be anything but, tangled undergrowth and bramble bushes made progress very slow, and at times a bit painful.”

At this point, the old man’s voice trembled, and a stray tear traced a path down his weather-beaten cheek, he continued – “I got a few yards ahead of May-Ellen, trying to kick some of the bramble thorns out of her way, some way ahead I could see that the terrain looked a little easier. On my left I passed what seemed a small crater, paying it scant attention. At this point I heard May-Ellen shout: ‘Don’t get too far ahead, I need a short rest.’

‘Here,’ shouted May-Ellen, ‘there’s like an old tin trunk in here, I will use it for a seat and rest a minute, my legs are getting quite tired’ The old man paused once more, it was some time before he was able to continue – and there was a look of such sadness on his face.

“I decided to make my way back to where May-Ellen was stopping to rest, I was some fifty yards or so away from her when there was a most terrible explosion, what May-Ellen had accidentally stumbled upon was a forgotten stockpile of old World War One munitions.

She had no idea that the small coconut shaped piece of metal she had picked up was a live hand grenade, or that the small sliver of metal which she pulled to one side was the detonator pin... there was a terrific bang and two or three smaller explosions.

I reached her moments later, her right arm was completely blown away and there was a gaping hole in her chest, her lifeblood was staining the ground crimson. She reached out to me with her left hand, she had the sweetest of smiles on her pretty face: ‘Matty’ she said, ‘That was some firework display, you may kiss me now – if you wish.’

I held her left hand very gently as she slipped away, and I did kiss her so tenderly on her forehead, not that she ever knew anything about that, she was dead by then, and yet that smile was still there... still there...

When I sit here looking out across that 18th hole and into the distance, I can still see May-Ellen, sixty five years on, and do you know what, she still looks as beautiful as ever, and I can still hear her angelic voice, there she goes now, ‘Matty, that was some firework display...’

Hi Huggerman

I appreciate you stopping by with a comment, thank you - I wasn't sure whether many people post short stories on this forum, I need to get a bit of reading done. Thanks once again.

very sad story & very romantic too...