Short Story: Lizzy Reading

Sitting in her bedroom was all Lizzy could do to keep her emotions steady. Her hands were shaking, a letter in her hands. She struggled to swallow air without a sharp pain in her chest. She felt the urge to run and hide, but that wasn’t an option. She read the letter again, for the fifth time that morning and paused when she reached the name of the person who had written the letter. Neil Reading.

The name hit repeat in her head, just like a stuck record. She had thought he was dead for nearly four years. He had left the flat to her in his will. She got to stay in her sanctuary, but now there was doubt what happened to Neil, she couldn’t let it settle. Sitting still was now having the reverse effect she wanted. Lizzy stood from her bed, still gripping the letter and looked down at it one last time. She gently placed it on her desk. Taking a deep breath, she moved to the wardrobe.

Lizzy pulled out the clothes she needed. She got out of her PJs and into her Locksford Police Station uniform, the basics anyway. She smoothed out the shirt, tied the shoelaces of the Doc Marten boots, brushed down the trousers and tied her hair into a neat ponytail behind her head. Glaring at her reflection of the wall length mirror pushed her over the edge.

‘OK, Neil. You wanna play the tough guy? Then take on this.’ Lizzy’s Brummy accent bled through her words.

She smirked, hearing her accent sound like the true Brummys and not like the accent they try to pass off as Brummy in Peaky Blinders. She picked up her backpack, prepared for the day ahead, and left her room, not looking back to see the figure starting to climb out of her wardrobe.

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