“Don’t touch me,” she said. “Don’t. I mean it.” The moss was thick beneath her knees. “Only I can touch you now.”
“That isn’t how this works.”
“It has to be. We got here too late.” She looks up at the woman towering over her. “It’s okay.”
“You’ll die then.”
“We all die. Give me your hands. There’s no time.”
The towering woman extends her palms as branches snap everywhere. Soft fingers trace in esoteric circles over her skin. “Say the word.” The kneeling woman says the word and the forest glows in light.
“It’s done. Leave me. It’s healed.”
About the Creator
Kevin Rolly
Artist working in Los Angeles who creates images from photos, oil paint and gunpowder.
He is writing a novel about the suicide of his brother.
http://www.kevissimo.com/
FB: https://www.facebook.com/Kevissimo/
Keep reading
More stories from Kevin Rolly and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Bridge. Runner-Up in Microfiction Magic Challenge.
The bridge only went so far until it didn’t. The rusted spannings hanging in twisted steel over the river which coursed some hundred feet below. The ruined train tracks bowed outwards in shorn metal ribbons as if blindly seeking to connect again to the far beggared tracks. A thing yearning to be what it once was.
By Kevin Rolly3 years ago in Fiction
Miss Persephone's Manual to a Seemingly Ordinary Life
Miss Persephone was found at the dining table, her blue eyes swollen, her tears arriving and retreating like the tides of the ocean. Earlier that day, her family had visited her in the retirement home where she had lived for eight years. It was her eightieth birthday.
By Imola Tóth2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Very well done.