I looked at the ruined garden around myself. Everyone had been wiped out except me. My entire community had been living in this place for five years now. We had been such a happy lot. But the war had come and the bombings started.
We had been waiting in fear and apprehension wondering when it would be our turn to face the bomb. I had been waiting for new folks to join me. I looked at the broken flower-pots stacked in cupboards for the fresh entrants. I was hoping I would be joined by a few Rose plants like myself.
Note: Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Sandra Crook for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields. Please find other entries here.
Word Count: 100