(100-word flash fiction)
She has the same dream again. Tiled roofs. Walking under stately arches. Cycling through cobbled streets. Waves of happiness surge through her, rising in a crest of joy until it explodes in a burst of euphoria so great, it shakes her awake and sitting bolt upright in bed.
Only, there is no bed. Just a torn mat on a bare floor. Around her, sleeping bodies. Mice in the corners. Cold drafts seeping in through the refugee shelter’s broken windows.
Holes, where the city used to be. Where the bombs fell. The biggest hole inside her where home used to be.
Entry for Friday Fictioneers, the lovely Rochelle’s awesome gathering where we meet once a week to create fiction to a photo prompt –