Freshly Butchered

Here is the third in my series of fifty-word stories based on this photograph.

I hope you’re enjoying them.

Freshly Butchered

Arthur always saved me his nicest cuts of rump steak, even during the war.

‘But the boy’s stopped eating meat,’ I said.

‘Here.’ Arthur winked. He dropped a greaseproof parcel into my shopping bag. ‘Stew these until the meat’s dropping off the bone. He can suck them like lollipops. Lovely.’