As you walked along the street, it was like your eyes were forced to look at the castle on top of the hill. The kind of place scum like us would never own. We would never get to call somewhere so grand home. We would never deserve it because we were the lonely people who always looked up.
The days were long gone when the people of the town where merely workers for the Lord of the Manor. However, the indication that the people who live there were better than we remained. It was an idea ingrained in our heads that we would always be looking up and wishing; just wishing.
I had, like everybody else, heard the rumours that the elderly noble who lived there had died leaving no heir behind him. It was a mystery who was going to take over.
It was, naturally, the talk of the town.
What people did not know was that I had a plan inside my head. The lowly corner shop was why right kicked everything into motion. I walked outside clutching my lottery ticket. As the advert always says, it could be anybody.
This week was going to be my turn.
Written for Sunday photo fiction