For a random non-writing assignment, I ended up writing this flash fiction:
Over on the valley’s side, somewhere in the mountains, nestled deep within the landscape lays a hut, old and abandoned. It’s broken, every creak has a back story and every shattered window has been witness to pain.
The sun rose today just like it does everyday. The clouds parted today just like they do everyday. The hills rolled and woke up today just like they do everyday. Birds chirped, trees sighed, winds creaked. Just like they do. Everyday.
Something about today is different. Something is new. Perhaps it’s that man, hobbling his way into the valley. The man whose groans dissipate into the morning chaos of the valley. The man who shuffles his way towards the broken hut from the lands beyond. The man who is wounded, bleeding as he steps over the threshold of the hut. The man, who smiles, lies down and breathes his last. The man who’s finally home.