A few of you have contacted me about entering the writing contest without a blog. If you do not have a blog, just email me your entry at annabbps at gmail.com. I will be happy to post it on my blog so that others may read your work. Of course, you retain all rights to your work.
Here is the latest entry to The Fairy Ring Writing Contest, courtesy of Paul Ramey. If you enjoy, please comment.
By Paul Ramey
At first I mistook it for a pressed flower.
It was frail and dry, and as I opened the pages of the book it stood up slightly, caught deep in the fold. On either side was a slight silhouette, a delicate shadow of the form frozen on the parchment.
It was one of my grandmother’s books. I’d been in her study for the past hour, escaping from the cold reality of her funeral. She’d been laid to rest that very morning, and now people were milling around in the living room and kitchen, reminiscing over the many ways they missed her.
“What is this doing here?” I whispered as I gently pried it out. The tears had not yet come to me, and I hated knowing that I’d failed to mourn properly at the funeral of someone that I loved so deeply.
What was wrong with me?
I gave a slight tug to part of the tissue-thin material that seemed entwined with the pressed flower.
It was then that it winked at me.
I was looking at a little, living thing. It wore threadbare clothing, and had wispy, dragonfly wings. It began to unfold and expand, like an origami shape, and buzzed its wings intermittently, testing them.
Satisfied, the little figure pulled away from my fingers suddenly and took flight, coming level with my eyes. Then, buzzing around to my ear, I heard a very tiny, insect-like whisper.
“Thank you, dear.”
And then it was gone, the light breeze carrying it right out the open window and back into the world.
I walked over to the window, and I couldn’t help but smile as sudden tears lifted off my cheeks and followed the little spirit to wherever the winds decided to carry it next.