Sia tapped an unsuspecting puddle with her toe. Startled it rippled away, gently distorting the realities reflected on its surface.
The ripples transformed her brother, straining to peer into the dark general store, to a boy scavenging after Christmas. Barren trees became crumbling sticks, not even good for fire.
The sky was falling.
Marta’s back spasmed and her lungs burned as she coughed. Thin strings of blood stretched from her lips to the palm of her hand.
Only her son caught sight of the panic in Marta’s eyes.
“Nothing’s wrong Sia. Stop daydreaming and come on.”
Word Count: 98
For Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff Fields. Thank you as always.