‘Don’t cross the border,’ his father had pleaded.
Cortez sat on what remained of the balcony. ‘Look at me now, Padre.’
It would take hard labour to fix the place up, but he had been doing hard labour his whole life.
This time though, the work would be for his benefit, not the gringo.
He chuckled thinking of the rich folk fleeing as the army approached. Their treasured wealth left behind.
The car had been in the garage, untouched as the bombs fell.
In the distance the battle for California raged on.
Cortez leaned back and sipped his beer.
Written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above).
To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.