She wondered who owned the derelict building and why it was neither demolished nor refurbished. The nightly flicker of lights had given away the squatters. Rumour had it that a profitable Goody’s trade flourished within selling everything from weed to heroine.

Stepping through the unlocked door she looked around. Old frames still hung tenaciously amidst cobwebs advertising the perfect Kodak moment. Her mind searched for a happy memory, something to cling on to, but each one was attached to a plethora of bad ones.

As she broke into her rasping cough she conjectured this is what dying of a broken heart felt like.

Written for Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday with photo by Frank Jansen

10 thoughts on “Derelict

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