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We come this Friday to an image sure to inspire. That look speaks volumes, but you have only 100 words.
I’ll start with a story …
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He ignored that his feet were turning numb and continued to search the creekbed. There!
He rush to his sister and pressed the stone into her hands. He hoped it was enough. She looked up at him, her hair swinging back to reveal the spreading bruise along her jawline.
He was overcome with guilt, “if only I’d been bigger or talked less.”
She touched his cheek, “Stop. We got away.”
Pressing her palms together, eyes closed, breath measured, the universe paused.
Gathering up her thin body in his arms, he started on luminescence she had created to lead them out.
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Now, it is your turn.
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featured image, cropped, from Pixabay CC0 license
David Krishan says: “Someday. When I’m older.” She glanced at the quiet, lit houses nearby, the families safely asleep as snow fell on Christmas Eve. “I will grow to be beautiful, and powerful. And your sons will give me their souls, willingly. And I will earn my freckles.”
Fletch says: They had named her Rebecca but she would always be Stormy to him, for her mood shifted as often as the weather from delighted, to imaginative, too angry.
She had formed a court to put a mantis on trial for eating a spider, and when she found him guilty did not hesitated to apply the death penalty.
One day she declared that her stuffed animals voted her dictator over her room and thus no one should ever look under her bed without permission again. When we did look, we soon found stuffed bunny citizens all over the house holding protest signs about human rights violations.
Yes, to him she would always be Stormy, nor could he imagine any different.
Elizabeth says: “Wait!”, the imp cried out. “You mustn’t!”
She stopped, her back facing him, and looked up at the rose-grey sky as snowflakes fell in a slow, spellbinding procession. A few landed on her nose and cheeks, melting with a sigh. It was just another trick to delay her. She wiped away her tears and, thinking of father and his undoing, blinked resolutely.
Turning slowly, she glowered at him where he knelt. His eyes were wide, innocent. His hands were clasped like a supplicant. His mouth was agape, silently pleading.
“The queen’s head is mine,” she repeated. “And I go alone.”
Stephen Miller says: Flavius Septimus laughed aloud, echoed by several of his guests. This temblor had been more powerful, but such things were daily life in Pompeii. He cuffed the little red-headed slave girl and shoved her toward the kitchens. “Away with you, and learn to keep silent unless you’re told to speak.”
He had forgotten her curious warning, deeply involved in a discussion of olive oil prices when the rumbling echo of an explosion rolled over the city. Flavius turned and found his eyes on the little girl’s as the first soft flakes of ash fell. “I told you,” she whispered.
nicole says: Siblings Jonah and Sam were living in a violent abusive house. Tormented and continuously abused by their father. They were just children & knew that this was not normal or how their friends were treated at home.. They tried to be on their best behavior all the time, like walking on egg shells to not upset their father. They tried repeatedly to talk to their father to find out why he didn’t want to spend time with them, have dinner with them, tuck them in at night or read them a story… they only got responses like, shut up, go to your room, leave me alone, etc..
at dinner, Jonah spilled his milk across the table and it dropped onto the floor. While he was quickly trying to clean it up, his father came into the room and saw the mess.. I’m sure you can imagine what came next.. Sam tried to protect her brother and got an elbow to the face.. that was it for them, they had enough… Sam hit her dad with a pan and she and Jonah ran into the dark night. It was sold and snowing, but it didn’t bother them. They were finally free from their Father…
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