Photo Credit Subramanya Bhat (Photo for SPF)
A delayed child, who never spoke, giggles to herself.
Everyone except me thinks she is defective. None in that big, rich family cared.
Somehow she knew I appreciated her. She hugs my gifts and giggles.
I visited her last monsoon. She was playing with paper boats in puddles of water. She appeared angelic.
A fallen coconut, her port. Boats named in an unknown script. Suddenly she spoke a peculiar language fluently.
The signs were good enough, she was an angel.
She hugged the pink sweater gift and giggled.
A month later saw her lifeless body wearing that pink sweater.
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99 words
Fiction, but I feel sad.
Beautifully written
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Thanks for letting me know.
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Sure, I am happy to be an ardent follower Mridula
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Very nice!
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So kind of you, Susan, to stop by and leave a comment .Thanks.
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If she really was an angel she’s in a better place now. A moving piece indeed.
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She is, Keith. Thanks for reading.
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Oh so sad.
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Thanks for letting me that it evoked a feeling in you.
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Such a sad ending.
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Thanks for your time and comment, Sascha. 🙂
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🙂
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Touching story. She certainly was gifted in her own way.
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Sure, she was. Thank you.
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Signs were good enough, she was an angel.
Yep. Sometimes they get called up.
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Yep, that too soon.
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A beautiful tale with a surprise sad but hopeful ending. 🤔
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Thank you, John.
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Stunningly beautiful for a story of a lost angel. Your capacity to move the reader is spot on.
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Thank you 💝 so much, Charli.
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Wow – so very sad! Thanks for contributing to the challenge! Needed a trickle catharsis.
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Thank you, Gorman, much appreciated.
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