PHOTO PROMPT ©What's His Name
James salvaged everything he could when his grandmother’s house burnt down.
He said, “If you polish enough soot from tragedy, you’ll find roots to build a bridge.”
Astonished, his brother argued, “A bridge! Why would you want what lived in that house crossing over anywhere near you? I could never sleep when staying there for the wailing in the attic and the wallpaper rearranging roses in its stripes every full moon. Grandma Winnie’s house sat twenty-five feet from Hemlock Cemetery’s plot of unmarked graves. Hell! The dead walked right through her front door. I’m done!