The day John finished his 15 year sentence, he made his way to the old neighborhood. His eyes paused at the run down building. With its corrugated iron roof, frayed walls and intact windows – it tug at his heart-strings.
As Carl drove up the rugged path in his Ford-150, Cecelia eye’s drifted up ahead. The sun was dipping below the horizon and the sky showcased hues of orange and blue. Cecilia’s arms were covered in goosebumps. It must be the chill in the air, she thought.
From the waiting room, I calmly make my way through the double doors into the hallway. The distinctive smell of antiseptics is hard to digest. Why are hospitals so cold? The surroundings austere. This is nauseating.
Every Thursday afternoon, MaryAnn would wait by the kitchen window. She stood there, parting the tattered curtain in anticipation. She eagerly awaited the first sounds of his bicycle as he rode up the cobbled pathway and towards her home. Would he come visit today as she hoped?
She was lost in reverie, thinking back to the time they laughed together and how she cared for him. It was her decision that broke up the family she loved.
As the kitchen door creaked open, there he was. Standing tall and handsome.
“Is there warm tea ready mum? I’ve brought some scones’.
This post was written as part of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge hosted by Rochelle. The idea is to write a short story (100 words), based on the photo prompt provided.
To read more interesting stories, click on the blue frog.
She glanced at the piano from the corner of her eye. It had remained in that secluded corner for many years. Neglected, untouched, yet meaningful to her. Continue reading