My mouth went dry as I rounded the corner. I’d heard the sirens converge from all around—but it wasn’t until the I saw the lights playing on her building that I let the thought complete. The awful thought.
I never liked that place, not once.
“First apartments are always crappy,” she’d laughed as I helped her hoist the boxes up the narrow stairs.
Her bedroom window—now broken and black with smoke.
Please answer, please. I pressed the phone to my ear.
This is Gia, I’m unable to take your call right now–
I hung up and dialed again.
This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo prompt courtesy J Hardy Carroll. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, or to submit your own, click here.