≡ Menu
I tell stories
100 words, or sometimes more

Burn

It felt pretty satisfying to finally set fire to the place.

Despite everything, I still got nostalgic as I walked around for the last time.

The kitchen, where Mom had spent ages trying to keep us fed. Dad’s floppin’ chair, directly facing the TV. Still with a depression perfectly moulded to his behind.

Sally’s basket. I loved that dog.

But the rest of this house is just bad memories. That can burn.

As I walk away, I hear the screams start. Guess I could have let the folks out first, but they’re getting old. They said the same about Sally.

2 comments… add one

  • Loony Doone

    It took me a bit of time to work out why you’d called it Bum, until I re-adjusted my computer weary eyes.

    Not one to show the folks back home, particularly if they are looking after the family pet…

  • Mark Reeve

    Sometimes I wish you weren’t limited to 100 words….

Leave a Comment

Next post:

Previous post: