New Home

 

The home we left had no doors or windows. That’s where we ate, slept, and procreated.  Anyone on the streets could peep into our lives. We felt like animals in the zoo.

Then they came, with a promise of salvation. All we had to do was to trust them.

Now, look at my new room – Solid wooden frames; mahogany, I think. Powder-coated steel mesh on the door and windows. Security outside the doors twenty-four bar seven. They even have dogs, scary ones capable of shredding anyone into meat.

The lock snaps shut. I miss my dusty old home.

Word Count: 98

Thank you for hosting Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle. Thank you, J. Hardy Carroll, for providing this week’s prompt. 

Please follow this link to read other stories written for this prompt. 

10 Comments

  1. Nice to have you back, Varad.
    Quite the grim tale you have given us. It would appear their original loggings were a tad better as they were at least free.

    Like

  2. Bad to worse. Sort of like government making promises to protect us if we surrender our weapons. Ask the Native Americans how that worked for them.

    Like

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