Jasmine crawled through the grass careful to keep her head down. She counted the bricks in the pathway. They were all bumpy and many were loose. The tree that grew along the path was never meant to get this big or else the path was never supposed to last this long. The roots had run under the bricks making the path impassable years ago. She stopped counting and dug around the edges. A stain was all that was left of the moss that had grown around the chipped corner.
The house had lain barren for years and so no sprinklers moistened the brick. She wedged a knife around the edges and prayed she had remembered the right number to count. So many of the bricks were chipped and twisted. The brick popped up, suddenly releasing its connection to the earth. Her finger was pinched between two bricks but Jasmine bit down on her lip to stifle her cry. She hadn’t seen anyone around the house in days but you never knew.
This once nice neighborhood was mostly empty and now filled by a small but violent gang of squatters. She didn’t want to be caught alone in a gang’s territory. She felt sweat run past her ear as she pressed flat against the ground she set the brick down on another brick and peeked in the vacant hole. She gasped not seeing it right away. She shuffled her fingers across the flat pressed earth until she felt something slide away from her fingers. The key was now caked in dried earth and age. She squeezed the key in her palm, the edges dulled by grit.
I used “brick” as my writing prompt today. Pick a word and write.