Our House

I stared at the old photograph. Its edges were worn and wrinkled; it had always been lying around on my desk, just waiting for me to finally go down to the shops and buy a frame. The stone house in the picture stirred old memories. It had been our house.

My best friend had found it when we were six, and since then, it had been our refuge. Empty and forlorn, the house only belonged to us.

I wondered whether it still existed. Whether someone had torn it down. Whether it had been blown up, like my best friend just had. The tears came streaming down my face then.

© 2016

Friday Fictioneers, 3 June 2016

Photo prompt provided by Piya Singh

17 thoughts on “Our House

  1. Wow, you snuck that line in there about the bestfriend being blown up. That would be extremely difficult to come to terms with. No wonder she has this old photo on her desk she is looking at and recalling their good times spent together. Powerful write.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It starts so innocent, with chilldhood memories and a bit of melancholy. And then: bang, on an aside we get the horrible truth about the best friend. Powerful writing!

    Liked by 1 person

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