Sorry for some of my late replies last week. That election was a shocker. (By the way, if you’re interested, I had a story, “The Magic,” inspired by current events recently published with Necessary Fiction–please feel free to check it out.) And it didn’t help my writing that my little one has been teething something wicked–but still feeling lucky and happy to be home with her this year (and tutoring part-time) before going back to work full time next fall.
This story was written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by wonderful writer, Rochelle, on her website, Addicted to Purple. Each week, she provides us with a photo prompt and her own story, and we have 100 words to respond with out take. Anyone is welcome to participate–just give credit to the provider of the photo prompt (this week, thanks to Bjorn!), write your own story, and click on the blue frog below to read others’ work and add a link to your own.
Before Jodie was one, she shouted, shook maracas, and banged on every surface. She bounced when music played, clapping and smiling her gummy smile.
When she was seven, she played the guitar by the pond, and the fireflies hovered around her, bobbing gently with the music.
At ten, she played a trumpet solo that filled everyone in the audience with confidence. The principal had her play during the morning announcements, to dispense daily courage.
When she fell in love, she snuck into the church and played her cello. Light gathered. Momentarily, everything in her and around her was holy.