The Old Millhouse

The story below is fiction. It is my story entry for this week’s Friday Fictioneers 100 word story, provided by Madison Woods, based on a photo prompt.


The Old Millhouse


Henry, old, crippled and, “eccentric, strange” the village people said trudged over to the old millhouse, cane in his right hand and wilting wildflowers in his left.

He unlocked the creaking door to its dark, dank interior. It was his annual rite to bring her flowers, lay them in her lap, arrange and prop her up so she would not slouch, or fall. The quiet and solitude greeted him, as did the spiders working their webs, and the mice, their nest.

Her skeletal remains sat waiting just like the year before, upright, awaiting his visit.

“Oh. Dear Henry. How lovely.”


Posted September 6, 2012 by Joyce in Friday Fictioneers, Short Fiction, Writing


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