A 99 word story for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers.
PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg
The mountain road ended in a meadow with our house right in the middle of it. It was an idyllic setting to grow up in, but it hadn’t always been that way—the constant stream of tourists looking for a picturesque camp site, the camping cars that used to park in our field and leave their rubbish behind, people who were lost, looking for water, petrol, the right road. They used to bother us even in the middle of the night. Then dad put up the road sign back before the final bend. It was peaceful after that. Idyllic.