Memories, stacked in moving vans, evaporated like morning dew, leaving the house empty and sad. Rooms shed tears of loneliness, missing love and laughter as loss echoed off bare walls.
With a brisk click, flames swallowed doors, licked ceilings, and seared floors as the unwanted house cried out in agony.
Rita Riebel Mitchell writes in the Pinelands of South Jersey where she lives amongst the trees with her husband. Her work appears in HAD, Flash Fiction Magazine, Versification, and more. Find her at ritariebelmitchell.com/friday-micro.
Oh my goodness, the transition to the second paragraph really hit.
Boy! It sure did.
Thanks!
Well done, Rita! So very well done. ❤️
Thank you, Paul! 😊
Such a vivid and twisty story. I may never hear the phrase “fire sale” the same way again. Well done!