Friday Fictioneers are here again. Wonderful! So many thoughts spring to mind with this photo, but that far roof is certainly the most intriguing. I hope you think so too. As always, thanks to Rochelle for the prompt, and read all the other stories too.
He stopped dead, staring at the colors, the pattern on the roof. It almost helped him remember…what did it help him remember? What had he forgot? He stared as the colors blurred and the pattern rose off the roof. What did it mean?
Grandma, he whispered. He had a grandma. He followed the wisp of memory. Cooking, she cooked…she cooked…goulash, he pulled finally from his mind. She cooked goulash. And knit him a sweater in geometric shapes of yellow, blue and green. Did he have more family?
A car honked somewhere and he blinked. What had he been thinking about?