100-word response to Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt.
They were looking for a place to stay. I turned them away.
A brilliant star penetrated the coal-black sky, hushing the other stars to diminutive silence. They fluttered in its despotic presence.
A cold wind whipped across the sand. It invaded my home, conquering my bones with such a chill, I had to catch my breath.
I turned them away. She, so large with child, her eyes hungry for rest, leaned against her husband. He hung his head despondently.
An extra room sat behind the wall that held the fireplace. Empty, warm, dry. I refused them.
The garish star flashed bitterly in the abyss.