Summer Sundays

Summer Sundays were always meant for al fresco dinners. An opportunity for a busy family to share the week’s news over a bottle of wine and a table straining with food.

I didn’t see why it had to be different after the accident. Every week I prepared a spread fit for a king, only I was the sole diner.

On Monday mornings, when I opened my curtains and looked out on the patio, the wrought iron chairs had always moved. Haphazardly discarded by ghosts in the night who carried tradition beyond the grave.

I was the sole diner, but I was never truly alone.

Author: Ellie Scott

Ellie Scott is a freelance copywriter and fiction writer from Sheffield, UK. She writes speculative and silly short stories and flash fiction. She has published two short story collections - 'Merry Bloody Christmas' and 'Come What May Day'. In 2018 she was shortlisted for the Bridport Prize Short Story Competition. She can often be found loitering on Twitter (@itsemscott), Instagram (@tinysillystories) and Medium (@elliemaryscott). View all posts by Ellie Scott