Bad Handle
The rainbow had been a solid thing, bold and bright, shining like glossy candy stripes that hurt your teeth. The birds had swerved round it, the rain rumbled as it rolled down. The Earth swayed safely above the black.
They were in the clearing surrounded by wavering Rambletrees.
“It’s fading,” said Ernest. “Think the bird went through.”
Mi-More pulled a stroodler from his nose flap before it could lay eggs. “It was the handle that held the basket over the bugs.”
Ernest sniffed the wormy air and knew the picnic was about over.
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This story was written as part of “Flash Fiction Friday.” Great blog! Check it out and participate!
