The Crucible

This week Rochelle gave us a rather bleak photo prompt for her Friday Fictioneers challenge. I ruminated over it for a day, fighting my first impression; one of heartache, loss and destruction because, quite frankly, I am weary of of reality this week. Every day small fragile men find new ways to trample on the things we hold dear. Today, not content to destroy just our nation, our horrible leader took steps to ravage the earth our home. So I needed a bit of hope.


The Crucible

The massive brush fires expanded their reach into neighboring homes licking at their foundations before ravaging the stick frames that held them together. Fire doesn’t discriminate once it contorts into its frenzied surge, consuming furniture, clothing, family photos and other treasures.

Precious though they may once have been, they are dross, but the tempest has no power over memories that emerge in the hearts of those left behind.

Memories remain, cherished all the more by living survivors who realize while sifting through the ashes, that they, and those that they love, are the greatest treasure of all.

(97 Words)

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