She’s always believed that if she closes her eyes, people can’t see her.
But now, wanting to be found, she’s opened them.
And still people can’t see her.
She calls out, but only I can hear, and I can’t help… not in the way she wants.
Then she sees me, and claps her hands soundlessly together.
“Oh wait’ll I tell Tommy,” she says, dancing towards me.
I extend my hand, and she grasps it, holding it against her cheek.
“We’re going now,” I say.
She glances over her shoulder.
“Can’t Tommy come too?” she pleads.
“Not just yet, sweetheart.”
OK, shamelessly schmaltzy this week I admit, but if you’re craving my usual dispensation of blood and gore, click here to see my last submission for this prompt by the esteemed Doug MacIlroy. Warmest wishes Doug, wherever you may be – you’re much missed, mate. Thanks again to Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers, as she steams towards the end of the final book in her trilogy.