“Lost Home” — FWG Flash Fiction for 10/11/2025
- Rob Johnson
- Oct 17
- 2 min read
Do we, in some ways, desecrate what we try to preserve? Can we even judge?
The prompt is:
LOST HOME
Luis stood inside the cabin and sadly shook his head. The two small windows were the only concessions to the modern world. Otherwise, the cabin could have been constructed centuries ago by the indigenous people who lived in this valley for a thousand years before the coming of the foreign invaders and their accursed technology. The glass windows in their orthogonally perfect frames were a dead giveaway: this cabin was nothing more than a sham. A showpiece meant to impress bored tourists with the harshness of life in the desert.
But of course, the exhibit and the small plaque outside missed the point. To Luis Blackcrow, the last of his people and the builder of the cabin, life here wasn’t harsh; it was home. The tightly fitting logs that made up the walls of the cabin were so finely hewn that no daub and mortar was needed to seal them against the relentless wind. And the roof, raftered with logs and overlaid with mats of living lichens, was built to keep the interior dry and relatively cool.
Luis had built it using the collective knowledge of generations upon generations of his ancestors. Knowledge that was destined to die along with him.
The windows were a concession to the park rangers, who insisted there be some light source for visitors to see the historically inaccurate mixture of bedding and utensils glued in place to deter thievery. Luis had argued that the word for “dark” also meant “cool” in his native tongue, but since he was the last speaker of that language, no one seemed to care. That word and all the others would also die with him.
Coughing from the peyote and jimsonweed smoke, he plastered the windows with mud and lay down on the fake blanket to meet his ancestors.
THE END
This piece carries a quiet weight that stays with you after reading. The contrast between the “exhibit” version of the cabin and the real cultural meaning behind it hits hard, especially through Luis’s perspective. The story shows how preservation can sometimes become distortion when the people connected to the history are no longer heard. The detail about the word for “dark” also meaning “cool” is powerful because it shows how language holds knowledge that can disappear without anyone noticing. Luis blocking the windows at the end feels symbolic and final, like he is reclaiming the space one last time before joining the ancestors who built it. It’s a short piece, but it captures loss, memory, and the quiet dignity of…
This was a powerful and quietly devastating piece. I really felt the weight of Luis’s perspective, how something presented as “heritage” to outsiders can feel like a hollow imitation to the very people whose lives and history it represents. The contrast between the museum’s staged authenticity and Luis’s lived memory was especially striking, and the detail about the word for “dark” also meaning “cool” carried so much symbolic loss in just a few lines.
The ending hit hard in its simplicity. Luis sealing the windows, rejecting the artificial light, the artificial narrative, and choosing to leave on his own terms felt both tragic and dignified. A beautifully crafted reminder that when a culture loses its last speaker, it loses an…
This story hits with calm strength. The way you show Luis holding on to his past while watching it fade feels very real. The scene with him building the cabin shows how much he values what came before, and the ending leaves a clear sense of quiet grief. It’s a short piece, but it carries a lot of weight.
Wow, Rob, this story really struck me. I love how you captured the tension between preservation and authenticity—the way Luis experiences the cabin as home while everyone else sees it as a display is really powerful. The details about the construction and ancestral knowledge make the setting feel alive and poignant.
It’s heartbreaking to think of traditions and language disappearing like that. The ending, with Luis reclaiming his space in his own way, is both somber and strangely beautiful.
Have you considered expanding this into a longer piece? I feel like there’s so much more to explore about Luis’s ancestors and the valley.
When you’re locked out late at night or early in the morning, there’s no need to panic — a 24 uur slotenmaker is always ready to help you get back inside quickly and safely.