August Flash Fiction: Day 2
Each day a new post with a picture, word count limit, and occasional additional twist will be published at 7:00 am EDT. You will then have until the next day's post to write your story.
You can then either keep it to yourself (a perfectly valid way to participate!) or you can share your story itself in the comments, or share a link in the comments where we can read your story (blog, Instagram etc.)
My daily story will be added to the post under the picture within the same deadline.
Aug. 2 Word Count: 300
Aug. 2 Picture:
“When is a building not a building? When it’s just the frame for something better,” Peter says.
The light of the sun turns his blonde hair ruddy and for a moment he looks like another person all together.
You step on and over pieces of broken stone mostly consumed by the endless determination of the local flora. The plants don’t care about man’s desire to curb and shape their growth. Just a few days is enough time for grass to go wild, never mind the footholds it finds over the course of years.
“When is a building not a building?” you mentally ask myself, souring on Peter’s turn of phrase. When it is nothing but the bones of your family’s legacy.
“Think it’s haunted?” he asks, turning to you with a grin. The sun has tinged his face red too.
You look away.
“Yes,” you reply, though you aren’t thinking of ghosts, and he laughs.
You clench your teeth but remind yourself to relax. You’re the one who suggested the hike together.
You bend down and stick your fingers in the dirt. Homeland.
You are tempted to take pinch of the dirt and deposit it in your pocket.
“Can you believe this single wall has stood alone for over a hundred years?” Peter asks, shaking his head, “That’s what the guidebook I flipped through at the hotel said.”
“Mmm,” you murmur, incapable of finding an appropriate response.
You drop the dirt and wipe your hands against the leg of your pants before turning back to Peter.
“Shall we walk back?” you ask and he smiles and nods. He offers his hand and you take it, strolling away from the ruins. You tell yourself not to look back.