“Your Grand-mère Michéline’s ashes are all around here. The creatures passing through become her, in ways we can’t imagine” I said.
“She died young, didn’t she Grand-père?” whispered Manon.
She scaled the stone wall and danced an arabesque, her twee voice piercing the forest edge. That joyful girl was Michéline, as she was when we stumbled upon this clearing sixty years ago.
“Mommy said I was made here by the fire, before they left for Canada.”
“We should thank the smoke,” I cried.
It saturated the air with remnants of Michéline gathered from the woods, and lovers breathed her life into Manon.
This has been an installment of the Friday Fictioneers Challenge. If you would like to give the challenge a try, start at Rochelle’s Purple Blog and join the fun.
Here’s the concept: A weekly picture is posted, and the writer is challenged to produce one-hundred (more or less) words of some sort of fiction with a complete plot (beginning, middle and end).
Have fun and happy writing!