“You can’t go wrong with bricks and mortar.”
Vernon recalls his father’s advice. The old houses seem tired now, as though it’s becoming an effort to keep up appearances.
Children’s laughter drifts through a window. Sounds of life. Vernon is no longer the man of vigour who created these buildings, but he loves to walk here and remember the passion, his ruthless refusal to be second best, cutting down competitors to build his empire, starting at the bottom with trowel and cement.
These houses will surrender, in time. People will wonder at the whitened bones in the crumbling brickwork, but he’ll be long past telling.
This is another one for Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ weekly flash fiction challenge.