London
The walk from school was quite a distance, but Chris, even at thirteen didn’t complain about it. Most days, except when he had cricket, he walked from his comprehensive to the primary school where he met his mum and his sister, Sophie, and often he gave Sophie, who was eight, a piggy back ride the rest of the way. He was good natured, a good kid; he parents knew they were lucky.
Tonight though was different. He was making his own way home because he’d stayed late at school for science club and was going down to the rec with his mates for some football. They’d got it all organised, two teams of seven-a-side and his team was going to wop Alec’s team. His team were awesome; the best.
As he approached the park he heard shouting and waved at a few of the lads who were already there practising. They waved back and then suddenly something whistled past his ear. He saw a football bounce into the road as a shout came from behind.
“Get that for us will ya Chris?!”
Chris was quick; he didn’t need to be asked. “Gottit!” he shouted back. He darted out from behind a parked car into the road.
It happened in a heartbeat.
His mates, standing at the fence saw and heard what Chris would never see and hear: the screech; a car skidding sideways; a shouted warning bursting from their lips, too late. The horn of the car broken as it smashed into another parked car so that it went on and on and on.
And at that moment the world simply stopped. They knew that he was gone.