August 21, 1839
It's foolish.
He thought he had me trapped in that wooden box. He charished the box so, hid it carefully under the bed.
I don't know if I should laugh, or cry like I did then.
He'd started making preparations to leave again. The next day he would get back on a boat and sail to the other side of the earth.
But something was weighing him down, even more so than being exiled. It started as a light itch in his throat. Then a pain in the side of the stomach.
Would he end up like my body, limp on that cot?
YOU ARE READING
Lost times
FantasyShe danced with the flowers, the irises and the beautiful snapdragons, and they danced along with her. The nature was alive it seemed, the leaves and petals floating through the air as if with wings. This is my story for the Westbury Faery contest.
