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Weekly Contest #305
At the intersection, I could go right and head home — but turning left would take me…Why on this world would I want to head home? There is nothing, or anyone, there for me anymore. The house stands silent, covered with red dust that settles on everything. It disguised what once was. I brush it from the porch rail, but it clings, the way my sorrow clings to the edges of memory. The silence in these empty rooms echoes the hollowness inside me. yet as I stand at this crossroads, feeling a flicker of something stubborn. —Hope that somewhere, bey...
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