Every Friday Sammy would head down to the local corner shop to buy sweets. His mother gave him three coins….a fifty pence, a twenty pence, and a ten pence piece. She would then ask him to count the coins before he went, so he knew how much he had.
Sammy became very good at counting his money, and eventually would remember every time, that he had eighty pence to spend.
He would enter the shop and smell the familiar scent of liquorice, aniseed balls and sherbert….it always filled his nostrils and his head with wonder and comfort. The shopkeeper, Mr Jenson knew him well, and was a jolly old chap, who would sometimes give Sammy a free sherbert lollipop.
Sammy visited every week without fail. Through the sunny golden evenings, to the dark, lamplit winters, he’d go…for many a year.
Until one day, when he entered the shop smiling.
And Mr Jenson was smashing the place to fucking shit with a baseball bat, screaming. Aniseed balls covered the ground like absurd hail, the bon bons were crushed underfoot, and the jelly babies were a massacre, sprawled on the counter like so many translucent garish CORPSES.
Sammy left quietly, weeping slightly. He would never buy sweets again.