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Flash Freewrite #003 — Sacre Coeur
The stone is alabaster smooth, a warmth inside collected from the sun or the heat of other hands. He rolls it in his palms and thinks of his childhood. Trainers thudding, gravel flying, grubby hands searching for souvenirs just like this in the soil. He passes it from one hand to the other as he passes through memories.
He looks down the endless white steps of Sacre Coeur, dotted with tourists, some sitting to eat a sandwich and enjoy the spread of Paris laid out below. Some take selfies with the big domed basilica in the backdrop, its bleached turrets and spires worth the unforgiving climb.
He considers what to do, where next to go. He puts this polished talisman down gently on the ground beside him. Let it mean something for someone else too. He stands, stretches and heads down the steps, towards the crush of humanity in the narrow streets of Montmartre.
