The options are unlimited, the outcomes uncountable, the word count: roughly 600 words. May I present a story that you have not will read. A story of layers, and layers, of possibility.
The pond ripples underneath my fingertips, and my face sputters into a mess of stretching lines and round curves. And it spreads across the entire pond, in however small a way. I take a drop and smear it across my forehead, and it feels cold with the summer heat.
It’s tempting to plunge my entire hand into the froth, and feel the strains against my skin, but I can’t, not here, not now.
I catch the eyes of a few other park patrons, and it seems as good a time as any to walk away. So I do. And I don’t. And some days its seems hard to tell how many ways I can be wrong and right at the same time. Continue reading