Charles hung his head, trying to understand how this could have happened. Against all odds, he had escaped the stigma of being an inner-city ex-con, and had been warmly welcomed to the community, embraced and respected by his neighbors.
Now he looked down at the charred, barren ground where his home had stood before the out-of-control wildfires wiped out most of the structures in the once bucolic town. All that he possessed was in the backpack that he quickly packed up before abandoning his small, wooden home.
But now it was all gone, his home, his neighbors, and his faith.
Written for this week’s 100 Word Wednesday prompt from Bikurgurl. Photo credit: Andre Hunter.
John and Matty removed their backpacks and sat down on the rocks next to the creek bed. Matty took a deep drink from her bottle of water and opened up an energy bar. She looked up toward the crest of the hill, the sun sending beams of light through the trees, illuminating the ferns near where they sat.
John looked over at his wife and followed her gaze. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s so lush, so bucolic.”
“Yes, it is,” Matty readily agreed. “And it’s more than that, John,. It’s tranquil, idyllic.”
“So incredibly serene,” John added. “It’s totally unspoiled. It’s nature undisturbed by humanity.”
Matty looked at her watch. “I hate to say it, John, but we’d better be heading back.”
“Right,” said John. They each tossed their empty water bottles and energy bar wrappers into the pristine creek and left.
Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt.