“Open it,” Morgan nudged his best friend, dirty blonde hair flopping over his muddy brown eyes.
“You open it,” Salima responded, nudging him back, dreads swaying with the movement.
“I found it,” Morgan retorted.
“So the honour should be yours,” Salima grinned, passing over the crowbar.
Morgan glared at her, “Dammit, fine.”
He took some steadying breaths and looked again at the lid of the stone seat.
They had stumbled, way off the paths in the woods, into an old mausoleum, clearly long abandoned and forgotten, and decided to force open the thick iron gate and make their way inside.Continue reading “Prompt Short Story: Freedom”