“No, no. That’s east. I’m sure of it.” Angela looked back at the three strangers she’d managed to pick up along her travels.
The tall, ginger-haired boy tilted his head. “I think that’s west.”
“North,” the little girl toddled up next to him. “South!”
Ginger-hair sidestepped the girl, giving Angela a look. “Why did we bring her?”
Skinny girl punched his arm, “Shit, she’s a baby. We couldn’t leave her. What’s wrong with you?”
Ginger-hair rubbed his arm then shrugged, “Kids are sticky and loud.”
“Okay,” Angela took a breath, blowing it out loudly. “Enough. We go that way. With the little girl.”
“Which way?” Skinny girl asked. “You’re flailing your arms around and expecting us to know what you mean. Also, let’s not forget we don’t know where the hell we’re going and no one agrees on…anything, actually. And can we give the girl a name at least?”
“Toward the sunrise,” Angela said.
“Sunset,” Ginger-hair corrected.
“Dammit!” Skinny girl flung her hand at the nearby house, “I’ll say it again. It’s right there. A house. Signs of life. Possible help. No-brainer. And, fine, I’ll give her a name. She’s…Pam.”
Now-Pam yelled, “Pam!” Skinny girl smirked. Ginger-hair did not. Angela opened her mouth to argue and Now-Pam lowered her voice, “no house.”
“It’s right there, squirt,” Skinny girl pointed. “See?”
“See?” Now-Pam poked her stubby finger to the branches seemingly growing out of the roof.
“Huh,” Ginger-hair said. “I don’t remember that tree being there.”
Angela backed away, “It wasn’t.”
“No tree,” Now-Pam said. “Bad house. Run.”
My attempt at #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent