We were friends, of sorts. He was often angry, withdrawn. Stuff at home, I guessed. I’d heard my folks muttering about his step dad.
“Can I come over tonight?”
“Yeah, you want to stay for tea?”
He shook his head: “Don’t tell your mum. But can I sleep in your barn?”
I must have looked baffled. He glanced towards the teacher’s desk, picked up a shell, studying it closely, lowering his voice “just for one night then I’m gone, see?” he pulled up his sleeve. Fresh purple an ugly bloom over fading yellow. “I’ve had enough. I’m never going back.”
Is this cheating? I’ve hit a wall with my work in progress, can’t seem to write another word. But seeing this picture gave me an idea for a bit of a back story about events in my leading man’s childhood. Maybe thinking around the story will help me get going again? Who knows? Anyway, thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields and her Friday Fictioneers Challenge for giving me the idea. Follow the link to read other people’s stories on the same photo prompt.