The Wake Up Call

By Alyson Faye

I was on the run. From her and my old life. I landed up in a rather grimy hotel on the Norfolk coast. Booking a coach trip with an outfit called ‘Pioneer’ (that was me now), I requested a wake up call, hit the bar and then bed.

The phone rang, “It’s time Sir.”

“Huh?”

“Your time Sir. It’s come.”

Disorientated, I staggered up, tripped and fell into the carpet’s embrace. To stay.

Emerging at dinner the receptionist apologized; she’d forgotten to ring.

Unconcerned, I took the local rag from her and read ‘Pioneer Coach Crash on A11, 5 Dead.’