Rejected on all fronts once again, they settled into the ruined land so grudgingly allocated to them.
Not what they’d hoped for, but it was better than the hole in the ground they’d begun to envisage as their final destination.
So their men laboured long into the nights, constructing, repairing, refurbishing and slowly a civilization began to emerge. Houses, markets, hospitals, schools. They fished, cultivated the soil, became self-sufficient as a community.
Life wasn’t easy, but it was better than they’d known in the past.
And it wasn’t for sharing, when the others began to gather on their borders.
Venice just doesn’t do it for me. Which is strange, considering I’ve spent such a large amount of time living and cruising on water. But it’s a very vivid photograph, courtesy of Fatima this week. And thanks to Rochelle for launching the fleet of Friday Fictioneers once again.