Red House

Photo credit : Pixabay

The turquoise door marks the spot.   It’s arch shape, a warning to all who enter things aren’t square here.   It beckons for attention.   A smarter man would see that first.  The red shrub announces life is fleeting.

I sit across the street.   The car runs for some unknown reason.   I can’t consciously put it into park, or shut it off for that manner.   It’s all too strange.

A week ago, I lived here.   I found myself living here, better yet.   But now, I don’t.   My key doesn’t fit.  Her furniture is gone.   I’m homeless.

A why would help.   My stuff would be nice.   But I sit wondering.   What is to become of me now.

Written as part of a challenge called Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers,


19 thoughts on “Red House

  1. I was feeling quite sad for him under the circumstances revealed in the story, but as in real life…that is only part of the story and the sad feeling is not so sad after all. He made some bad decisions and paid for them in a way he had not planned. A wonderful way of showing how only knowing part of one’s life will have a different outlook than knowing the whole . Great story. Thanks for the video.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It is indeed sad. The sense of being left behind and lose of so much. But I gave you one side. He deserves it. The song was inspiration piece. He’s been gone ninety nine and one half days. I would be hunted down and shot! I still think it’s that half day that did it.


    1. Well’ he may have been gone too long. My song of inspiration mentions ninety nine and one half days. Those half days are always the problem. I actually felt the victim part plays better. It ends happy (sort of) “If my baby don’t love me. I know her sister will.”

      Liked by 1 person

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