“Piss stop!” spat the Guard.
Tired, chained bodies stumbled out into the baking heat.
A faint peal of church bells drifted across the scrubland. In the shimmering distance the familiar whitewashed walls of a village. An old man on a donkey stopped by the track. The donkey’s tail swished at buzzing flies. The grey-bearded man took a deep swig of water from a battered canteen – his eyes narrowed as they locked in on mine.
The carriage door slammed shut: glistening, warm sunlight once more replaced by stinking, oppressive darkness.
It would be a long time before I saw my home again.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge