There’s a new prompt on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Addicted to Purple blog that wakes up the writing muses of the Friday Fictioneers. At least it does so with my muse. I’ve been very tired and unmotivated this week, questioning why I blog, why I write, and everything in-between. I need some sunshine, fresh fruit and greens, and some irresistible prompts like the one from this week. The lovely image belongs to Rachel Bjerke.
As usual, I just wrote down what came to my mind. This 100 word drabble hasn’t been proofread by anyone other than me. If you find something odd, please don’t hesitate to point it out.
Please follow the link below to read the amazing stories written by the other Friday Fictioneers. Come back often, posting goes on until Tuesday. Please leave a like, or a review.
“Every full moon, the fairies dance here.”
“How do you know?”
“I was here last month.”
“Can I come, too?”
“You’re just a baby.”
“I’m five. Pleaaase?”
“You’re a liar.”
“Am not. See that stove? I hide there.”
“Oooh. This is big. Santa could fit in there.”
“There is no Santa.”
Your seven-year-old wisdom convinced me that fairies were real, but Santa was not. Ten years later you convinced me that kisses grant wishes. Seventy years later I scattered your ashes, right here. When I look at the moss, at the trees, at everything growing, I see you.