This was written for #TellTaleThursday with Anshu & Priya. This one’s nowhere near as good as last week’s. Go read that one. The prompt this week is a visual. Yes, I’m catching up on all this week’s challenges today. I wrote four short stories today. You can go read them all in Vignettes. I’m sorry if they suck. I’m just throwing them out there like cabbage. No, that does not mean anything. It’s a random series of words. I’m spent. I’m about to go crash out in front of the mind-numbing television.
Throughout the drought, she prayed for rain.
Throughout the flooding, she prayed for the rain to stop.
When the water rushed through her house and swept away the baby in her basket, she prayed for her baby’s safe return.
When the basket floated out of her sight, she screamed for help, but the other villagers were busy saving themselves.
She went to the temple on the hill for help. She was turned away by the priests who were too busy with the flood and too afraid of the rising water to be bothered.
She splashed into the river. She fought her way through the deepening water and against the increasingly powerful pressure. As she trudged through, she prayed for the flood to dissipate.
The force of the water pushed her down. She fought to regain her footing. She splashed until she was upright and forging forward again. She prayed for the gods to keep her safe.
After three more slips, she was exhausted and lost in the darkness of the encroaching dusk when she heard the cries. With renewed purpose and vigor, she carried on. She pushed herself around the final turn where she saw the baby basked caught on a branch.
In the end, she learned the strength she needed didn’t come from external sources. It was inside of her. She was the only one who could answer her prayers. She let her prayers drown as she splashed her way to higher ground with the baby basket in hand.