"How old are you?" The little girl whispered at the darkness.
"You swallow dust that was my bones with every breath. I planted the trees that made the acorns that birthed the trees that were cut down to build this house. Old."
"But you're not real anymore."
"Real enough." From the darkness sounded a knock, knock, against the hardwood floor.
"But are you strong enough?" She glanced nervously at the door; her father would be home presently, smelling of smoke and liquor.
"I don't have to be strong. Smart is better than strong. And old is smart."
"I hope so."
I like the idea of a protective and vengeful imaginary friend.
ReplyDeleteThank you!
DeleteOooh--chilling and cool!
ReplyDeleteThanks!
DeleteThat was a freaking power 100 words man .. great job.
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading :-)
DeleteSounds like she'll need someone of any age in this situation!
ReplyDeleteI think Knock will do in a pinch. And I just came up with that name just now, lol.
DeleteIntriguing for sure. Usually I can get a good sense of what happened before, and what might come after, but I had a harder time with this one. And again I'm walking away thinking what a great dark (darkly whimsical) children's story this would be.
ReplyDeleteYeah, I could have used about ten more words :)
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