Lisa and Brian sat on the leather couch in their therapist’s office that morning, like they had every Tuesday morning, for the last month.
“I’m telling you there is nothing behind the wall except a space where the wind whistles! I am transparent. I hide nothing. I don’t even know why you insist we play these games where we look behind imaginary walls,” Brian whined and then stood up. His eyes moved toward the door.
“Brian, sit back down,” their therapist pleaded. “Don’t run away.”
He remained standing but then moved behind the couch to pace back and forth. “Maybe I run away from crumbling castles,” he sighed, “all that wreckage.”
Lisa stood and walked to her husband. “Maybe we’ve gutted the house, but I always wanted an open floor plan. This can be the fun part,” she promised, eyes bright, “let’s renovate.”
Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a piece of flash fiction or other prose (not a poem) of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line,
“there is nothing behind the wall
except a space where the wind whistles”
from “Drawings By Children” by Lisel Mueller.