Crone’s Prayer

With hunched, frail shoulders the crone leaned against her sand-smooth staff. Her gnarled hand trembled holding a wax sealed bottle. Inside, a parchment displayed swirls of an unknown language.

It’s fell soundlessly onto the rocks.  There it danced with the tide like a lost jewel beneath the hidden sun’s demise.

“Please,” she croaked echoless upon the breezeless eve. “Father, let me come home for this land is not for me.”

A tail of rainbow scales splashed a wave–then disappeared.

The bottle was stolen.

She waited and prayed for the storms to align and for her antiquated land legs’ last dawn.

(100 words)

6 thoughts on “Crone’s Prayer

  1. Phew…was getting pretty lonely down there I can tell you…

    That’s a very deep (and epic) question. I shall put some thought into it…;)

    Liked by 1 person

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