He’s been trudging through the forest for hours. His clothes were torn and his face and bare-feet were caked with mud. Ever since the long gash on his right arm stopped bleeding, it had turned black, making him feel light-headed and weak. “You’ll be okay.” He told himself sternly and leaned against a tree. “You can survive this.” He muttered and continued walking.
He’s now an American stranded in a foreign country with no ID, money, and passport. He swallowed at the thought. “We’ll find a way home. We always do.” He muttered as he stumbled among the trees until his strength gave in and he fell against a tree. Some time later, he strenuously opened his eyes again and looked up. It was a giant windmill and not far from it was a large white house. He laughed and began crying at the same time and then he muttered to the sky, “Thank you.”
I am participating in Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writer, where we write a piece between 100 and 150 words (more or less 25 words) in length inspired by the photo prompt above.