(100 word flash fiction)
He pushed open the rusty gate and walked calmly to the crumbling house.
He planned to overpower her when she opened the door, force her to open the safe and decamp with the loot.
But, the door was open. She was lying on the floor. Her breaths long and laboured. Each one like it was the last.
Should he run, or call for help?
‘Who are you?” asked the emergency call operator.
The woman in an old photo on the wall looked just like the one in a photo he had carried in his wallet for 20 years.
“Her son.”
~~~
For Friday Fictioneers photo prompt below -
photo prompt © David Stewart
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