595, that’s what Jane had told me right enough. It didn’t figure, her being how I remembered her from school an’ all, and the house I was looking at now.
Back then she had lived in this real palatial house, her father was some hot-shot lawyer type.
How had she ended up in this dump? That’s what it looked like. A dirty rundown shack. A real dump.
A little cute kid came running out from behind the old house. Real cute looking, but dark-skinned. Not black, but kind of coffee-coloured. That confused me because old Jane was whiter-than-white pale-skinned.
I was beginning to think I had maybe the wrong town altogether when old Jane herself appeared. She was much older, but it was her sure enough. I would recognise those blue eyes anywhere, even if she had put on a bit of weight.
She recognised me too, and that crazy smile I remembered spread over her face.
She was holding a baby. It had dark skin too, just like the little kid, who was staring at me.
I kinda figured out how old Jane had ended up in a dump like this. Guess her father wasn’t one for moving with the times.
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit HERE.
To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.