written: 11/14/20
prompt: barbed wire, howling winds, and a scrap of blue fabric
words: 385
-ˏˋ 💙 ˎˊ-
A scrap of blue flitted through the air.
Clawing branches snagged at it as it flew by as if attempting to stop it on its way.
The fabric did not stop for them, though. It bypassed the evergreen, not quite ready to land.
Its journey continued, sailing above waters a deeper shade than its own. Flattening beneath the sole of a charcoal boot.
The wind guided it farther and longer than any human could go; never-ending. It fell, it stuck, it was picked up again.
That little piece of blue fabric crossed lands some never saw, met more people than one could in a lifetime, held together through everything.
It wasn't a rabid animal that tore it to bits. It wasn't a small child practicing her sewing skills, puncturing it until it was nothing but strands.
A barbed-wire fence was what ended its journey.
The wind was howling, days of gentle breeze far behind. Oceans raged, trees swayed violently.
The scrap couldn't tell you the difference, but that was no matter.
It'd gone from being stuck in a windshield as a vehicle swerved down paved ways before it was stolen once again, blown for miles.
It came to a rest on a simple pile of dirt, elegant blue reduced to a burnt umber.
Then the young girl found it. She pulled it from the dirt, admired it with wide eyes for a few moments. The wind stopped, time froze, the entire universe was watching.
She yelped, dropping the scrap frantically and scurrying backward.
The pile of dirt had been an ant's pile of dirt.
There was no time to dwell on it, though (little blue could have become a blanket for the newest of dolls, a patch on a dress, perhaps). The wind returned, ever a faithful companion, carrying it far away from its temporary home.
It could have gone on forever. It could have found the ends of the Earth, seen every star, touched every hand.
But it seemed all that had come to an end.
It snagged on the wire, fuzzy threads tangling with wrapped steel. Cows cried in the distance, tractors hummed with the morning mist.
The world was in motion, but the scrap of blue fabric had come to its final rest.
(guys i honestly don't know what this is)
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FEBRUARY | WRITING DUMP
RandomIn which the author drops bits and pieces of her imagination sporadically. alternatively: my writing dump! [ edit: apparently i'm doing writing help now, too, so expect tips from an amateur every now and then! ] criticize as you please. expect updat...
