They began creating their finest work the day she was born.
Between them, they had all the child would ever need. A dash of creativity, a smidgen of courage, an infinitesimal feathering of fey, and a vibrant slash of joie-de-vivre.
She was a canvas on which they would, in time, replicate themselves. With broad strokes they would gift this child every nuance of their beliefs, thoughts, emotions. She would be their memorial, sailing majestically into a future that could not be theirs.
A drugs-dealer eventually obliterated their canvas.
But if truth were told, she’d proven difficult to love.
Close call this week – resigned to a no show through lack of inspiration, until I sat down mid morning with my coffee. Wishing all Friday Fictioneers, and our leader Rochelle, a very happy Wednesday.