Friday Fictioneers 4-8-2016




PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll


The old mill stood abandoned. Lifeless. Bereft.

I wondered how anyone could love a building with a dead heart. Once full of sound and motion and life, empty. Hours spent playing in the milling room, chasing butterflies along the river, finding tiny life in every crumble of dirt. Mom and Pops were alive then. Mills were important then. Now, not so much, at least an old, broken, water-mill.


“Mr Hardy?”

I turned, accepting the pen and paper.  Scrawled my name large and loud.


Finally coming home.

13 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers 4-8-2016

  1. The heritage of manufacturing and of the communities that go with it is disappearing fast from so many countries in the global North. A similar them occurred to me for my piece. Thanks for celebrating it

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Each week I visit a old spinning mill, now used for recreation. You describe what I feel so well. And last week a red admiral butterfly fluttered across the top floor then headed for the roof lights. Great

    Liked by 1 person

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