It was a tedious, exhausting journey.
No point in asking if we were nearly there yet; we were always nearly there, just as we were always nearly rich, nearly united, nearly content.
But soon we were slithering joyfully down the grassy slopes below the crumbling ramparts, whose only function for us was as a backdrop for hide-and-seek.
The hot sun scorched us scarlet, then burnished us golden-brown.
Our parents would rediscover each other, a fleeting hiatus in their warfare.
On leaving I’d cry, watching the ruins fade from view.
One day I’ll live here, I thought.
And now I do.
Not really fiction, I suppose… well perhaps the bit about ‘burnished golden-brown’ since I was always a freckler. 🙂 Thanks to Rochelle, for her untiring efforts on behalf of Friday Fictioneers, and for choosing my photo thus allowing me to wax lyrical about my adopted home.