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Weekly Contest #168
On the way to the station, the bus rocked down the path of stones and stomped-on twigs and the house with the brick-red roof. There was no one on the porch waiting to see the bus pass, waiting to glimpse Anna’s face in the passing windows, no light or hole in the curtained windows. Beside the curtain stuffed into the side of Anna’s seat, her one eye turned. She dropped the curtain, frowning.She passed 99 Speedmart, green, a copy-paste of a heartless franchise, but misty with the memories of running in and out as children. On mornings when sh...
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