‘But what precisely?’
Light and dark: such comfort in the light. She was cherished, her every thought seen, encouraged towards it.
Vanessa. The way she smiled, the glow of her hair. Her lips.
Magali forced herself to answer. ‘Of kissing her, Father.’
Such terror: within her a sin she couldn’t control, dragging her into the dark.
‘Be strong, my child. Resist.’
Absolved, uplifted, Magali stood in the light, looking up. But even as her own lips moved in prayer, the thought of Vanessa’s returned. She ran outside, seized by dread at her powerlessness, the impossibility of making her imagination pure.
In response to Matt’s Flash Fiction Foray, which had the song Pure Imagination as the prompt. The title of the story is apt as I’ve been a little overwhelmed this week and there’s been no Thursday Interview, nor even Pic’n’Post. Normal service to resume next week – thanks to Matt for getting me back on track.