February 22, 2013 by petrujviljoen
The ruin was a testimony to abandonment, neglect. An accussation. She swayed under the weight of the past. Ten years of running, of putting distance between herself and this place did nothing to assuage the emotions welling up in her. She sank to the ground. Wracking sobs tore through her, her mother’s brutalised face in front of her, as it was the day she ran away, her 15th birthday.
The fence, a symbol of middle class propriety – this is a good neighbourhood, it said. A bastion against the darkness. Mrs Smith shrugged her shoulders, went inside to her tea.
Friday fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wissoff Fields. The photo is copyright Janet Webb. It’s a wonderful exercise in honing one’s writing.