When is she coming?
“As soon as she arrives,” I tell the seashells.
Will we control her again?
“Don’t be silly — we cannot control anything,” I remind the sponges.
Then how can we be sure she’ll do as we wish?
“Do you look at her as she manicures us?” I ask the driftwood. “There is joy in her face.”
But what makes her work so hard on our behalf?
I sigh at their lack of understanding. “Because it’s in her nature.”
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly flash fiction contest that’s a whole mess of fun