An old man now, Richie walked down the stairs he’d abandoned as a child, his assistant helping, walking in front.
At the bottom he entered the arena where his friends would come to become wealthy young Woody Guthries and stage great wars with hot rocks and sticks.
Until the day Stevie died. They buried him where he lay and claimed he’d never arrived that day.
He was still missing, no policeman had ever hypothesised the reality.
Now, with only Richie left, the secret would safely be kept forever. Unless…
Across the arena Stevie stared blankly, smiling as only skulls do.
At the bottom he entered the arena where his friends would come to become wealthy young Woody Guthries and stage great wars with hot rocks and sticks.
Until the day Stevie died. They buried him where he lay and claimed he’d never arrived that day.
He was still missing, no policeman had ever hypothesised the reality.
Now, with only Richie left, the secret would safely be kept forever. Unless…
Across the arena Stevie stared blankly, smiling as only skulls do.
Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt:
PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright -Björn Rudberg
