There is a purity in beginnings, the architect thinks as watches the digger trundle across virgin earth.
A fresh building is like a newborn, untainted by people and purpose. The building simply is. A thing unto itself.
The digger claws at dirt, gouging holes in the earth, ready for the foundation to be laid. The architect watches and the building takes shape in his mind, his pen strokes and measurements becoming strong walls and gleaming windows. Beautiful apartments. A new way to live.
Shouts echo across the site. The fence is broken; a woman is running towards them, screaming, a can of paint in her hand, security tight behind her.
The architect doesn’t dodge in time. Red paint goes everywhere, like blood.
“Our homes!” she screams as they drag her away. “You tore down our homes!”
Hatred simmers in the architect’s heart. The purity is gone. She defiled it.
Word Count: 150
This is for FFfAW. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and wildverbs for providing the prompt photo!