Dillon

Photoprompt – Erin Leary

The paper plane looped the loop before landing next to our pew. I snatched it up quick and read the spidery words:

Churchyard 5am. Dillon.

I glanced across the church to find Dillon’s gap-toothed grin and nodded back.

“Don’t know why you hang around with that filthy scragg-a-muffin,” Ma always said, her face all screwed up like she could smell him – an’ God knows he stunk like five kinds of dog – but we were friends and where we went, no-one else could come.

“Eat slowly, not too much,” he advised that night, “ an’ who knows? Maybe you’ll see angels.”