I’m indulging in my writing urges by joining the Friday Fictioneers, where the aim is to use a photo prompt to write a story in 100 words or less. So, if you ever decide to read on, the pain will be short-lived.
Like so many others, it was a shell of its former self. But something about its aspect and the backdrop of escarpment made me stop.
Ruins are like a 3D novel. Two rooms, so they had money, or planned a big family to help with the sheep and the wheat. The aspect from their windows, across the saltbush and gently undulating plains to the shadowy forms of rising hills beyond, would have inspired them. Beyond drought and dying crops, livestock or offspring.
Maybe they prospered and moved into town, from where they managed without heat and dreams. And remembered this.