Briefcase

It was the sound.

The finality of that soft ‘click’.

Peripheral things that stick in the mind.

Inconsequential yet remembered, as detail fades.

The release of the school bell, not the lesson.

The swish of the cane, not the crime or the pain.

The tinkling from a girls charm-bracelet, not her mocking rejection.

The ringing of the phone, not the message.

The screech of rubber on wet tarmac, not the siren.

The clatter of medical instruments, not the words.

The rustle of papers, not the written words.

The closing of the coroners briefcase, not his sympathies.