Every Friday writers from around the world contribute 100 word stories prompted by a photograph supplied by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to Friday Fictioneers. Everyone is welcome to contribute and we love comments on our stories.
Ted was the first through when the police dismantled the road block. He drove past blackened stumps like burned arms raised for help in a sea of ash.
He pulled up in front of a scorched brick wall, rubble of embers and fallen bricks, a chimney still smoking. When he looked through the glassless window into her workshop he saw tree skeletons silhouetted against a smoke sky.
Her red sedan, now shock white, was in the yard. Sheets of blistered tin lay across the windscreen as if, in a last desperate panic, her roof had tried to shield her.