I must admit I’m addicted to Friday Fictioneers, so today I put aside an hour of editing my manuscript to add a story to this mix of wonderful flash fiction writers. Thanks to one and all who find time to read my story.
Siegert pulls the picture from his pocket.
He knows exactly how many cobbles create the path
from his old room to the gardens,
the rectory
to, well, anywhere on the grounds.
He’s counted each with his feet.
Excitement welled when Siegert heard adopted.
But soon he hears,
“The boy’s quite stupid. Rarely talks.”
Silence is golden, they told me so
“He stumbles.”
I cannot see out of my left eye
“No one actually likes him.”
Please, all I want is love
The train whistle blows.
Siegert knows it’s but a ten-hour trip back
to the land of cobblestones and priests.
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Up From the Ashes 