I mourn as I try to hold the ragged fragments in my hands. They bleed through my fingers, falling softly and settling into a small, sad heap.
My heart is heavy as I make careful attempts at rescue. It is of no use. Try as I might, I cannot make it whole again; my feeble efforts only cause further damage.
I voice my anguish to an empty room. It was a great idea for a story, written on a napkin. Why didn't I empty the pockets of my jeans before I threw them in the wash? Now it's forever gone.
YOU ARE READING
Drabbling...
FantasyDrabbles are stories consisting of exactly one hundred words. They can be in any genre but the ones I write are mostly fantasy, or paranormal, though I sometimes write ones that are mainstream or can't be categorized. Only the first four here, The...
