“What is this place?” She asked, swinging her legs over.
Without looking at her, he sighed a breath of chilly air. In the distance, the sun was quickly going down in a blood-orange haze. After a moment, he finally said, “My hiding spot.” He sighed again, “When I was ten, just after my parents left me, I shoplifted. Just swiped a bag of chips and ran like hell. The shop owner and the police chased me through the alleys until I found this tree,” he pointed at the large tree next to them. “I clung onto the branch and climbed up here.”
Each week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple hosts Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words, more or less, based on the picture above.