From college this week. Set a scene at someone’s house just before they come home. 100 words.
The creaky, cracked, black, faux leather sofa was where he kept it. Always the left hand side and never the right. Sometimes it was under the heavy seat cushion but today only a handful of grey fluff and a 5 pence piece was to be found. This was placed carefully on the heavily polished “not-quite-pine” pine coffee table. The polish unable, it seemed, to shift the decades old coffee ring.
My hand reached under the sofa and into hiding place number two. My palm rubbed against the faded red carpet. My finger tips brushed against the cheap newspaper. The sound of a key clanked into the lock and turned.