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June 25, 2012 / Daniel

Thinkful (100 word drabble)

[100 words, rated G]

Maerta sat cross-legged on the trail near a mound of the black powdery stuff, facing the sunset.

She slowed her breathing, watched the edge of the sun shrink away and descend.

The field was soundless but for her breath. No wind. No clouds slid through the sky.

She straightened her arms, palms toward the black stuff.

She hoped beyond hope that she could touch it, this time, with her mind.

Tears washed her unblinking eyes.

In the dusk, she ached, and even without nearing it, the shape of her hand appeared in the face of the powdery mound.


One Comment

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  1. Ann Ritter / Jun 25 2012 7:10 pm

    Short and powerful!

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