At least we’ll never accuse each other of plagiarism.

Happy Writing!

Christopher frowned as he trudged through the meadow, ankle-high grass parting with each step. He knew he shouldn’t have left his little sister Charlotte behind. But he needed to be alone, needed to think about the letter he’d read earlier. Mother had MS. He remembered the paper fluttering to the ground as he stood there trying to understand why the floor of his world had suddenly and violently tilted, upsetting him in an emotional free fall.

“Christopher!” He winced at the plaintive voice and turned. Charlotte stood there in her plaid jumper, long blond hair partly obscuring her face. She gripped a blue balloon in one hand. It bobbed and weaved on the breeze as if trying to escape its mooring.

He shook his head. “Go away,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. She looked too much like Mother. But he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. And then she surprised him.

“I know about Momma!” Her voice carried across the meadow, thin and high. He heard a tremor in it.

He hesitated a moment and then held out his hand. Charlotte reached forward with extended fingers, releasing the balloon. Together they watched it float heavenward.