Welcome to Friday Fictioneers. How exciting that my photo was chosen for today’s prompt. Thanks, Rochelle, for the honor of selecting my photo and for your dedication to this group.
Personally, I think storage units are strange, fascinating and a bit disturbing. This one gave me the creeps. But, I think generally storage units are places of transition, what we leave behind, can’t fit into our life, or simply don’t need or want. A lot of ideas about having stuff and what it all means came up for me, but it didn’t quite fit into a story and has nothing to do with what I came up with.
In any case, I hope this photo inspired you.
Hiders of the Tin
Marla hid in her storage unit. Like a visit with a sick relative, she never stayed long. Others hid, too. She had heard whispers, had felt their tears on her face. Usually, she left before that happened.
Her familiar brick of boxes was her refuge. She reached for her folding chair in the corner, but not before kicking a beat-up music box.
She picked it and said, “But this isn’t mine.” Quickly, she left to throw it away in a dumpster.
Returning home, she found the music box open on the table. A tiny dancer whirled to a creak of a song.