Torn from the wall, the pale wood fractures. The man yanks harder, the planks splintering as he pulls them, his strength magnified by his fear. He must find what Danielle stole from him; it must be here. If he can't find it, then he's in more trouble than he's ever been. He has to come up with the goods.

There's nowhere left to look. His focus is lasered onto this small stretch of tatty wall. A warm rivulet of sweat trickles down his back as his muscles bunch, the soft light from the barn playing over his skin like golden cobwebs as he grunts and strains with the effort.

Old Wallpaper - Madison Woods - Flash Fiction