Here’s my Friday Fictioneers piece for this week. Please check out Friday Fictioneers Central to submit your own 100-word piece and to read other submissions.
“The water is dirty,” I tell my mother, who stands next to me on the bridge.
“It is,” she agrees, looking over the waters we’d paddled in on hot summer days. The once clear brook is now a filthy brown. “The soldiers upstream are muddying the river.”
“When will they move? When will the river be clean again?” I ask, impatiently.
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her frown firms up as she stares at the horizon, making her jawline and cheekbones appear as a sharp silhouette against the sky.
“When the soldiers move, we will not be worrying about the river.”
To Be A Magician 