The Red Umbrella

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I normally don’t write fiction but if I did it would probably look like this.

The Red Umberella

The Monday morning commute is always a challenge. Standing on the platform waiting for the train whilst your head still feels like it is still on the pillow is the worst feeling in the world.

This morning it is even more of a challenge, its raining, not real rain but the fine drizzle that wets you through to the core which gives everything the appearance of an old black and white photograph.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot a beautiful young woman with flame red hair and a vivid red umbrella , which stands out like a beacon against the drab backdrop.

She is busy balancing her umbrella and fumbling in her bag looking for her ticket as the Liverpool train pulls into the station.

As the carriages pass by I look through the windows envious of the passengers sat reading books and papers in a nice warm carriage. The train stops, the doors open and the young woman and many of the people on the platform get on.

The  last of the doors slams shut, the whistle blows and it sets off leaving us stood like statues waiting for our train to Manchester.

I look around and spot a crisp white envelope folded neatly in two were the young lady had been standing. I walk over and stoop down to pick it up. I unfold it and on the envelope is a single word written in very elegant hand writing. Miranda.

The envelope had been opened and contained a crisp white folded single piece of matching note paper. Maybe there would be a clue as to who she was and how I could return it. I take it out carefully and unfolded it. It contained a very simple but chilling message.

The next time I see you, I will kill you!


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