Jackson climbed up the winding steps of the mountain, his body had long grown accustomed to the thin air. Jackson saw the charred tree and turned right; he was almost at the loft. He was almost at peace.

Jackson had found the loft a couple of years ago when he was 10. He was trying to run away from home and had lost is way on the mountain that surrounded his town. To make matters worse, he was in the middle of a storm. Lightning struck and Jackson panicked, fleeing right as fast as his little legs could carry him. That was when he stumbled upon the mountain cottage he now called the loft.

Jackson opened the door and smiled, remembering how scared he was when he first came here. He had thought there were ghosts inside and was terrified, but he was more frightened of the lightning. Jackson had climbed the staircase and slept in the only bed, shivering in the frigid night. By now he had built up tolerance against the mountain winds and rarely ever dressed in more than a sweater.

The loft held so many memories for Jackson; it was his safe place, his fortress. His worries flew away on the winds; his mind as calm as the stream below. The loft was Jackson’s true home, his silent abode.

Jackson went up the staircase making his way to the single study; it was filled with books. There were those that Jackson had bought and those that he had found there already. Jackson never knew who owned the loft before but he had taken good care of it. The wood did not creak even though it was older than him and by a good number of years. Jackson only hoped that when the next person found the loft they would treasure it as much as he did.



The Icognito Writer: I haven’t written flash fiction in forever and am trying to get back into it. Hope you enjoy.

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