Slotted rocks filter rays of starlight onto her hair, her face.
Beautiful and broken, her ankle anchored to granite.
“Go,” she whispers.
My stare like a pinky swear. “I’ll come back for you.”
Then I run, a comet trailing dust and tears.
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Published by Amy Bee
Amy Bee regularly writes for the Sacramento News & Review and her work has appeared in Salon, NANO Fiction, Indiana Voice Journal, and The Manifest-Station. When she isn’t writing, Amy likes to backpack long distances and marinate in her constantly nagging existential worries. Find her worries at www.lionbythetail.com and her backpacking at www.mountainsforbreakfast.com
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Wow.
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Interesting use of the third person plural in this.
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I was going for “gender neutral pronoun”, but it’s neat that it can be read different ways.
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I agree with Cyn, and beautiful word choices.
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Thanks!
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I hope they get rescued!
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Yes! Me too!
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This was beautifully written. Great stuff Amy!
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Aw, shucks. Thanks, Donna! 🙂
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I love the curious phrasing of “their ankle.” It gave me the image of a three-headed monster. based on your submissions this week, I think you are talented at magical and strange settings.
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Well, I didn’t have any scaled trees or marriage elevators, but…. I think I’ll take the compliment! Thank you.
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