Dealing with shadows

The shadows that converged across the field that afternoon brought many dilligent members of the Kelmoor neighbourhood watch to the fore-front of public aggrevation. Their megaphones and considerable door-knocking were wings to a tiger during this period of confusion and uncomfort. Darren sat in the least comfortable chair of his house; the one that directly faces the back window overlooking the garden and field. He knew answering that phone call in the hospital would be significant, he just didn't know the fine details. Tears without any sound or twitch, fell from Darren's eyes and stained his beige shirt grey. He remained stoic as the shadows began to lower from the cloudline and envelope the trees. Children who saw the dark cloudy day as an opportunity to play football under a more suspenseful scenery were completely oblivious to the quiet and shuddering dematerialising that was heading towards them as they wrestled for their point in the game. Darren heard the knocks on his door, heard the joyful cheers of the boys on the field, and felt no compulsion to respond to either. He reached into his pocket and slowly and shakely placed a two of hearts onto the side table. "It didn't work, sorry Liz". he muttered to himself as the oncoming shadow turned the field into a distant memory, the garden he once planted flowers in with his wife was destroyed like a burnt photograph, and the last