Image – Roger Bultot
Every cell in my body screams at me to carry on walking, but my feet are rooted to the spot, and I can’t wrench my eyes away from the light pouring from the cottage. Unbidden, my hand darts to the latch and I curl my fingers around the cold metal.
The smell of roast beef dances around my nostrils and I push the gate open and crunch down the path I long ago gave up any right to walk upon.
I crouch before the window and peer at the picture perfect family sitting around the table and wonder if they miss me at all.
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. Read the other entries here.