Where the wind blew pine needles across the roof. Scritch, scritch.

I didn’t know it would be this long.

I never would’ve let the dog out.

Never would’ve kissed you under the wolf moon. They say it’s cursed. Now we know.

Scritch.

Turns men into beasts and beasts into…well, you know. You only need to run faster than the guy behind you to not get caught.

But I got caught under the January sky. When my feet got tired, the roots grew through me.

Tendrils inside my ribcage.

Fronds folded through my sockets.

I didn’t mean to stay so long.

[101 words]

Gosh, I don’t usually write such vague streams of consciousness, but sometimes that’s where it goes, I guess.

This post was written in response to this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Challenge! The photo prompt was provided by Tim Livingston. Check him out here.