I lay at the bottom of the steps. It was dark and warm, and no one else ever had reason to come that way. I thought my nose might be broken, some teeth lost. I smelled blood and heard the sound of roots squeezing through stone, the tiny creaks and groans of something splitting, of new life forcing its way through. It was simple to keep still while the tendrils inched over me, wormed their way through my buttonholes, across my skin; easy to let the ants and the insects come.
I closed my eyes as the earth took me back.
I really struggled with this story this week – started half a dozen and discarded them, and still not very happy with what I produced. A 100-word or so story for Friday Fictioneers. Picture by Amy Reese. Join in. Or read others.
Writer and blogger Natasha Orme is hosting a competition to win one of two copies of my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days. Enter here. (Only open to UK residents – sorry!)