This is written for ErynPotter's 100 stories under 100 words challenge.
Prompt: Fancy
Words: 100 (exactly on dot!)
Was it the dirt scrubs which always managed to fill the walls or the bloodstains that soaked the floor? Could it be the nasty screaming from her father or her many scars?
This is what filled Merope's head every second of which her father found something wrong. It's been bugging for her for the past seven years.
Why can't we be fancy?
Merope's sees the chipped wall beside her to her left. The idea of it dissapearing seemed so... perfect. Of course,it was all just a fantasy. Her home, fancy?
Fancy, isn't that funny.