At the top of the valley, crags and ferns frozen in mist watched as she climbed onto the boulder, an island almost wider than the stream that rushed around it, heading towards the plunge. The boney bottom of a scrawny nine-year-old girl, naked and cold on the slippery surface, she surveyed her surroundings. A surefooted thing, she stood on the ancient thrust and held her arms out, wide, as if to call down the sky. Long stringy wet hair, dark on pale, clinging to her back, snaking under her arms and making squiggles on her shiny damp torso, hugging ribs and looping around birthmarks and flat nipples. She was by herself, but not alone in this place.
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The Writer’s Circle posted a “story starter” (pictured above) and this is what I came up with. I actually want to know more about this girl, even if nobody else does, so maybe I’ll write more later.
H.L. Brooks 