Friday Fictioneers | Scratches

Scratches. That’s what I lived by. A cautious cadence of scratches meant a gentle road, a juddering attack of scratches meant some winding or turning, and no scratches meant relief, sleep, a chance the journey was over.

I was lucky, I knew. Some displaced souls escaped in much worse conditions. Hundreds of humans in tiny shipping containers, some bodies touching bodies that were only still. Not thinking of the guilt I feel for those left behind.

The scratches started again, the hay around me a comfort blanket of freedom as it carried me to what I hoped would be safety.

Story written using the above photo prompt for the Friday Fictioneers challenge by Rochelle.

6 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers | Scratches

  1. It must be very constricting to travel like this. I love how the narrator gets through this by paying attention to everything she can detect around her. The hope is palpable.

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