Everyday I pass it by, another reminder of the people who once settled here, who fought to tame the wild, who fought to impose themselves on the world, no matter how fleeting their victory.
Everyday I pass it by, imagining the buzz of machinery as the town around it grew, imagining the terror of those whose blood still stains the walls as civility collapsed.
I’ve never gone inside, no matter how my stomach gnaws on fraying nerves.
The faces half-glimpsed through shattered window-frames warn me away, the echoing, creaking roof echoes my terror.
Everyday I avert my eyes, staring at the weeds growing through cracked pavement.
Overnight a white picket-fence sprung up.
Today I looked up and saw her.
Tomorrow I’ll not pass her by.
Slightly too long, but still written for the Friday Fictioneers. Comments and criticism welcome, as always!