copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Tears filled my eyes as I surveyed the destruction. My mother’s china that she passed down to me lay broken and strewn. Our furniture, smashed and reeking of urine, sat piled like a macabre jigsaw puzzle in the middle of our living room. Thomas’ synthesizer, the one I had given him for our first anniversary, had been taken apart.
Thomas, sweet Thomas, just stared at the walls, covered in swastikas and hateful screeds by stunted minds. He sighed and walked away.
He came back with a bucket of water and a tool belt. “They won’t win. Let’s rebuild.”
Friday Fictioneers time again! This weeks prompt is the photo above. Follow the link or click the badge to head on over and read some great writers you may or may not know. Better yet, read great writers and join their ranks by entering your own creation.
Happy reading and writing!