The Lost

“This store like one of those charm bracelets,” she said, “only the chain is broken.”

“Uh huh.” He was inspecting a framed set of trout flies, each with its  name neatly inked below it. Yellow Stone Fly. Beetle Bug Fly.

She plucked a photograph from a basket marked 2 for 50 cent. A man and a woman standing in a dusty field before a hulking old car. Neither was looking directly at the camera, nor were they smiling.

She flipped it over. Jim and Ethel written in faint pencil.

“I wonder who they were.”

“No way to ever know,” he said, distracted.

Friday Fictioneers

20 thoughts on “The Lost

  1. Dear Josh,

    When I pick up those old photos in thrift shops I wonder who the subjects were and how they came to where they’ve landed. Like he said, “We’ll never know.” Well done.

    Shalom,

    Rochelle

  2. Poignant, those baskets of discarded photographs as if the people themselves, all memory of them have been discarded too, melted down to period curios. Nicely told, Josh

  3. What a sad end game for cherished photos that have been saved by someone for years. I’d rather see the hundreds I have burned rather than sent to a thrift shop.

Don't just stand there.