Ultraviolet spotlights checked. Chairs unfolded.
The old hall was looking good.
Breathe in and get that musty scent. This was where it all started.
They had been on quite a journey since then.
Now, time for one last show.
‘Okay, open the doors.’
He watched them enter from behind the curtain. In they came, gathered from far and wide, by invite only. A couple of no-shows, but they could take care of them later.
‘Lock the doors.’
The band looked at each other, grim smiles all round. Battle-worn and scarred. Crossbows, axes and stakes raised in salute.
Written for Friday Fictioneers 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.