Arriving at his flat, one of many in a long street of dilapidated Georgian buildings, a grey cat wearing a velvet collar twined around Joey’s legs: ‘Alright Cullen, mate!’ he grinned down at the feline as he unlocked the door. The cat bounded up the stairs and stopped outside Flat 4 where it mewed expectantly; Ceridwen’s face appeared, her smile turning to a puzzled frown as Joey passed her door.
Inside his attic flat, Joey shed his parka and dropped onto the worn couch; shoving the crumpled quilt aside, he ripped open a grease-sodden packet of chips, laced with lurid-looking sauce and wolfed down a few mouthfuls, before leaning forward to switch on the TV; the flicker of the grainy monochrome picture the room’s only illumination as he devoured his supper.
Retrieving the prize that the river had given up earlier, Joey held it in the palm of his hand – a crouching camel, carved from greenish-brown stone – surely a find of great antiquity. His fingers tingled and his heartbeat quickened, a smile lit up Joey’s face; he felt energised, optimistic!
Joey stared at the camel, its mouth was slightly open; the little carving seemed to be grinning back at him.
Written in response to two challenges:
Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which I cannot presently locate 😉