Drabble 78

Willie shrugged off the cold Irish afternoon.
It was a grey out, fog thick as pea soup. There was a chill in the air and the ground was still soggy from the sky’s tears.
My mood was see sawing with the weather turn.
I turned to Willie, the only light in the room. I leaned on him and he became my Atlas, pulling me out into the mist.
“We’ll get lost!” I protested.
He grinned at the prospect. “I’ve something to show you.”
We clamored over the rocks at the shoreline and he pointed out a white beast in the distance.
It was a proud stallion, stark white in the gloom. And then I saw something shiny on it’s head. Then I didn’t.
“Is that a unicorn?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s