Faith Hopkins

Magic Tickles Me

"Mommy, what's this?" Jacob called out to Morgan, who was rifling through boxes looking for their humidifier. She stood and clapped the dust from her hands. Jacob was deep within the storage unit, his bright orange shirt a beacon in the sea of debris. Morgan straddled a box of sports equipment, holding a pogo-stick for balance as she crossed over. She squeezed between two towers of crates and emerged four feet from Jacob. His fingers traced the gold and silver loop that formed a butterfly on the cover of an old book.