Hadn’t been to the cabin since I was a kid. After Grandpa died, I forgot all about it. He only stayed here during the winter. I sat in the chair next to his desk. The plants had taken over everything. Still, I can almost hear his voice.
“I’m still here, boy.”
“What? Grandpa?” I looked around expecting to see him or at least his ghost.
“I’m still here. Look at the desk. Look out the window.”
“All I see are the…”
I’d forgotten how much Grandpa liked gardening, though he tended to let his plants grow a little wild.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers writing challenge. The idea is to use the image above to write a piece of flash fiction no more than 100 words long. My word count is 99.
To read more stories based on the prompt, visit InLinkz.com.