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.
Oh… your own prison is always way better than the one built by others… in the old one there was at least a hope of leaving.
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From one prison to another, not a happy scenario at all.
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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.
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They didn’t realise how well off they were – well, relatively. Great to meet up with you again Varad!
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Dear Varad,
Welcome back to the Friday Fictioneers Fold. 😀 Even a dusty cage of place is better than prison. Nicely done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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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.
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They jumped out of the frying pan into the fire – a well told tale.
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Ah, this was good! Be careful what you wish for. Chilling take on the photo prompt.
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
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Beware strangers offering dreams
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Good to hear from you Varad, a chilling tale of be careful what you wish for.
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