Can’t believe it’s time for another round of Friday Fictioneers! If you’d like to read the other stories or read the FF rules, click here.
EDIT: The extended version of this piece can be found here.
I stand in the dark, with only the smell of urine to keep me company. I’m a trespasser, not just to this abandoned building, but to this country which you seem to have claimed for yourself. Every odd little custom and saying reminds me of the weeks in which we first met, where my looks of amusement would prompt explanations from you. “That’s just something we say where I’m from.”
I’m now in the place where you are from, in the very building you said you lived in.
“You fucking bastard.” I breathe.
That’s something we say where I’m from.