The automatic doors slid apart, as if drawn by ghostly fingers. She paused, heart thumping, sniffing the air. Scents assaulted her nostrils – the sweet, heavy, unctiousness of lands far from here. A distant memory trickled into her mind, of laughter, warmth, worn-smooth chairs, a battered dining table, dented pots and pans with bases scorched black by blue gas flames. A home, not just a house. A safe haven.
Here, the scents were clean, new, knife-sharp. There, they had been soft and mellow and lazy. Here, the floor shone with the brilliance of constant attention and bleach. There, carefree foot-fall had worn the flagstones smooth and crumbs had nestled in the cracks in-between.
“Hey! Get out of here! Go on!”
She froze, stared at the man wielding a broom like a weapon – then ran. Ran as if the wind had caught her in its icy grip, ran as if she had somewhere else far better to turn to.
“That bloody old dog!” grumbled the man to himself. “Time somebody put it out of its misery.”
Once more, I have taken part in Picture It & Write this week. It’s strange how even the most seemingly mundane photo can inspire a story! Please take a look at Ermilia’s blog and why not take part in Picture It & Write yourself? She posts a new image for inspiration every Sunday, and this week, I am posting my entry on the very first day!