The Peculiar Girl and A Prickly Thorn

Admiring the thorn bush she didn't recognize Stay reached down. Stay plucked a thorn from a bush she didn't recognize and rubbed the smooth thorn between her fingers. She pressed the soft flesh of her finger to it, her skin indented, swallowing the plant until her skin gave in.

A bead of blood bubbled up, burst free from the thin skin. It took up a spectacular amount of space and volume compared to the pinprick that allowed it forth.

Bright as the morning's sun, the sport of red hovered in the cusp of the world at the edge of her finger. A gust of air rattled through the trees and shoved the bubble. It broke from its tension and seeped down her finger into her palm.

A moment gone.

© Ash Huntley