Green leaf and emerald vine came together in thick curtains, wet with dripping rainwater. The air was thick with swirling clouds of vapor. My boots sunk deep into the undergrowth and wet mud, squelching.
I’d been here for years, wandering through this green hell. It had been an accident – a plane dropping from the sky like a stone, engines trailing thick smoke.
I was the lone survivor. For years I hadn’t seen another living thing. I’d become a castaway, stranded amidst trees and chattering birds, learning to hunt, to forage, to survive.
I swept the curtain of green away and stepping into the clearing. There it was, the glinting shape that had drawn me here.
A car. Ancient, rusted, useless.
It was the first sign of human civilization I’d seen in years.
I put my hand on the cold, rusting metal and began to cry.
Word Count: 145
This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Tim Livingston for providing the prompt photo!