They climbed in silence, single file, the occasional foot scraping a bare concrete step.
Lindon pressed his lips. It helped stop the trembling. This was his first ‘trip’ off the ward and he wanted to look around. To look at others for their reactions. But new or not, he’d learned enough to understand that it was better not to. He kept his head low.
A scent hit him. Like Grandma’s house. Last month. Eons ago. He blinked.
The stairs ended. He looked up. His eyes grew.
His heart, too.
A room of books.
He knew he would survive.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Ted Strutz
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