We ran down the driveway, slowing to a walk after the bike shed, where she began to tell me about tiny villages among the rocks along the riverbank.
“They’re real,” she said, not meaning the villages so much as the inhabitants.
Wouldn’t that be nice, I thought. She chatted away.
“I found a place further in, where a tree fell – the roots are all wrenched up and it’s beautiful underneath.”
I smiled and nodded because it was my job, because she had imagined me in the first place. But I was jealous, and I wished I could exist there alone.
For more flashes prompted by this week’s photo, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore.