Friday Fictioneers: Lone Rubble
For Friday Fictioneers, Madison Woods‘ 100-word picture prompt challenge.
No one knows what goes on behind the walls of the lone rubble. But if you linger about her cold mould will permeate your membranes with its smell. Within her, daylight never appears. The mould that had grown upon mould reach down from the walls to suck last life from the wilting brushes that had sprouted from her floors.
Soon they take over leaving room for nothing.
I looked deep into her blue eyes one summer and saw nothing.
“I am minimalist” she declared.
Things created clutter, and people, she told me, came with weight she could care less about carrying. She yearned to be rid of the package that came with, inevitably, pain. So she emptied her heart out and sat, alone in the desert, hollow.
That was before hollow gave way to that mushy darkness that now sprawls across her insides.
I look deep into her now grey eyes and saw nothing. Nothing but darkness and her empty tear ducts.
So I stood and cried many tears for her, dear lone rubble.