When Flora had left, Richard got out of bed and roamed around the bedsit – picking up a jumper to breathe in the smell of her, opening the fridge and sticking a finger in the cream of the collapsed victoria sponge. He hadn’t been there on his own before and although it made him feel trusted, closer to this abstruse girl, the place was hollow without her.
From a wall cabinet Richard picked out a tiny dusty pinecone, and then a miniature trophy for a school art competition, and then a child’s drawing of the sun. “For Mummy” he read, and Richard wondered about Flora’s family – the ones she never talked about; the ones she had rushed off to when the call came.
This is part of the Friday Fictioneers writing group – where writers from all over the world write about 100 words using a photo as inspiration. This week Rochelle Wisoff-Fields has chosen one of her own photographs. Happy birthday Rochelle! Lots of other writers have written very short stories inspired by this photograph; click here to read other people’s and to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on my story.