(Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding)
The house was bang in the middle of nowhere. This very isolation was its appeal; this very absence of connection its allure. The irritatingly enthusiastic albeit simple broker had tried drawing Venky’s attention to what he claimed was an “idyllic” setting. How could the broker know that idyll was so far removed from his customer’s mind that it was never a part of the initial bargain.
A non-decrepit horizontal brick roofed structure, the house offered few novelties. Two sparsely furnished bedrooms and a hardly used smoky kitchen completed the interior. Sufficient in every aspect for a person who counted a dozen hardcover works of Diderot, Hemingway, Rene Descartes and Victor Hugo as his material possessions.
However, it was the backyard that clinched the deal and converted Venky from a prospective customer to a confirmed tenant. Initially conceived to be part of a bed and breakfast set up, both construction and ambition had collapsed in the face of insurmountable obstacles.
The squat cylindrical excuses for stools painted in red and white stripes were exactly identical to the ones he and Ash had frequented when they were together. Now those moments were memories – as was his Ash.
Memories were all that Venky had.
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit HERE.
To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.