Image courtesy of Ceayr
The noise builds and builds, horns blare, insults are traded. I sit in the traffic jam, my shoulders tight with tension, wishing there was just one second of silence in the city.
Birds tweet and a tractor thrums in the nearby field. The countryside is so quiet. So still. I live in the most boring place on earth.
I wonder where I’ll go tonight, another bar full of faceless strangers who don’t care.
I fancy a drink later but I’m sick of the local where everyone knows my business.
I’m going to move to the city.
I’m going to move to the country.
‘The Grass is Always Greener’ was written for Friday Fictioneers. A weekly 100 word story challenge inspired by a photo prompt. Hop over to host Rochelle’s blog to read the other entries or join in!