Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #103
I am lifted by gentle hands.
Carried to the attic.
There, they turn spiteful,
throwing me into the air
I wait for my body to hit
the dark attic floor.
No thump came to wake me.
I am suspended.
A puppet with no strings
I feel hands stroke my hair.
I see time moving.
Outside the small window
A whispered voice close to my ear
Not all things go bump in the night.
I do not panic, believing I will wake soon.
Better than thinking I am a plaything
For an invisible force…
© Anita Dawes 2021
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