This week’s picture of a disused and dilapidated building is a reminder, that nothing lasts forever. There is always a reason, and every place has its memories. Thank you, Bill, for the photo.
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Many thanks to Rochelle for as forever hosting the prompt.
Where Dreams Die
It was on the day Dorothy disappeared when the tornado tore Grandpa’s fabrication business to shreds. Everyone left to find a new livelihood.
John squeezed Dorothy’s hand. “This is all yours now. Just think––‘
‘Don’t think! I am selling.’ She released his hand. ‘Look.’ She strode towards the gas bottles. Dry heat had cracked the hoses and seized the nozzles.
She remembered Grandpa welding a gate and sparks falling around his feet. That same day, a military car arrived, and Mum began screaming. Dad was missing.
‘It was Dad’s only dream.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘I never found him.’