The smells of nature and despair war.
Bodies lay strewn on the floor; some insensate, others…I’m not so sure.
Glazed eyes track me. Whether they see me or some chemically induced monster, I don’t know.
The PI told me that Cindy calls this place “home.” I step over her…roommates, aiming for a certain pile of rags.
The pile stirs, sunken orbs struggling to focus. “Mama?” Cracked, blood-encrusted lips struggle to make the sound.
I didn’t protect her before. I will fix that, whatever the cost. “Time to come home, baby.” I reach out my hand and take her out of Hell.
Word Count: 100
Friday Fictioneers time! Head on over to Rochelle’s site and read some great writers. Everyone is welcome, so feel free to join in the fun. This week’s photo is provided by Randy Mazie at The Writer’s Village.
Happy Reading and Writing!