More flash.

Today's challenge: Write a flash fiction scene that fits on a regular-sized postcard. (I wrote really, really small).

No Place

Maila walked through the doors of Cindy's house, moving quietly on the hardwood floors. The red, sparkled shoes her mother bought for her recent eighth birthday clacked in spite of her attempts to be silent. She could hear Cindy's mother and stepfather shouting upstairs - short, percussive words, the turpentine kind that drip from your tongue, poisoning yourself and anyone who listens. She covered her ears and walked down the wooden steps to the unfinished basement where she knew Cindy hid during afternoons like these. She flickered her flashlight twice in the air to identify herself in the musty darkness. Cindy flipped on her own to show where she was sitting, huddled on the floor. Maila sat down next to her, listening to her soft sobs. She took her hand. Maila closed her eyes, stretched her legs out, and clicked her heels together three times in the darkness. They sat, holding on to one another, dreaming of another place.