I am so tired. Here, maybe there will be safe haven. Surely, when I tell my story, they’ll offer rest, give me a cup of rewarmed stew, bathe and dress my wounds. There are good people too in this world.
But the stone wall terrifies me–it has his implacable hardness. And now, that lamp I thought so welcoming, shines with the easy radiance he first used to charm me.
A shadow falls across the entrance, an arm outstretched. I turn and stumble on into the night.
.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here
Neil MacDonald Author 
Dear Neil,
I guess it wasn’t a safe haven.
Shalom,
Rochelle
LikeLiked by 1 person
It may have been. She was spooked
LikeLike
Maybe it was a safe haven and he sees evil everywhere. Maybe that hand was to help him enter…
LikeLiked by 1 person
That is very possible
LikeLiked by 1 person
Optimist, I am ..
LikeLiked by 1 person
There comes a time, I guess, when you’re so beaten by circumstances that you just daren’t trust anyone. He’s been through some hard times by the sound of it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
And she has reached that point, yes
LikeLike
A tragic mixture of fear and doom, so skilfully written, Neil.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks so much, Jilly
LikeLike
Lots of room to wonder in this little tale. Kind of a “write your own ending” story 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks so much, Linda
LikeLiked by 1 person
With trauma victims literally anything can turn into a trigger. Very good characterization of a trauma victim, Neil. She may even be the character from my story last week.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks so much, Jade
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re most welcome, Neil.
LikeLike
Let’s hope he didn’t pass up a safe haven. Well done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much
LikeLike
oops! it looks like it won’t end well for her.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, plaridel
LikeLiked by 1 person
I feel like this is a metaphor for society. We can have lights on to draw people in and they are met with stone walls and left to fumble in the dark again.
LikeLiked by 1 person
What an interesting reading! Thanks, Tannille
LikeLiked by 1 person
Whatever she’s been through has scarred her deeply. An intriguing tale, Neil.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much, Keith
LikeLike
As the song goes, ‘I guess every form of refuge has its price…’
Another smashingly well done story, Neil.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much, Bill
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLike
Wow Neil this was amazing especially the second para! So well penned.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much, Dahlia,
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sometimes past trauma just can’t be erased from the memory, and the traumatised victim continues to relive it. Well told.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much, Margaret
LikeLiked by 1 person
This one gave me chills.
Very good, Neil!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much
LikeLiked by 1 person
Nice post ✉️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you
LikeLiked by 1 person
Welcome 🙏 freinds please visit my website
LikeLike
You show how trust is a difficult accept.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for reading
LikeLiked by 1 person
Trust can be a hard thing in the best of times. She seems to be far removed from the best of times.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That she is
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ooooooo time to get out of there methinks
LikeLiked by 1 person
Or maybe not. But she’s gone
LikeLiked by 1 person
I detect a hint of paranoia. Nice and crerpy, this one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much. Dawn,
LikeLiked by 1 person