Miles traveled to the old town of Paphos in late July, as he had done in previous years. He stepped into the bookstore, taking in the familiar scent that brought back a flood of memories and a rush of excitement. He browsed the shelves with anticipation looking for just the right book.
It was like an unspoken sentiment between them. Miles would go to the local cafe she owned, and they would talk for hours.
Miles quickened his pace, crossing the tram tracks, clutching the book in hand. His eyes searched for the cafe frantically, but it wasn’t there anymore.
This post was written as part of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge hosted by the wonderful Rochelle. The idea is to write a short story (100 words), based on the photo prompt provided.
She lay there motionless on the cold, bare kitchen floor, staring up at the utensils. The morning light was just starting to make it’s way through the grim covered skylight. She had found this small place for herself and made it her own. But these little quarters that she had considered her sanctuary for so many months, had changed overnight.
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.