The postcard is all we have, our only clue.
It arrived two months ago, an image of a hotel, the colours nostalgic.
Having a great time, it says.
Wishing you were here, it says.
We track down the hotel from the photo and find it to be decades later, the building crumbling and rusting into the river. The area is deserted, the locals unwilling to speak.
Our search has stalled once more. Postcard in hand, we consider our options, desperate to find news of our parents.
A 100 word story for the Friday Fictioneers.
Photo (c) JS Brand