Standing in the master’s hut under his low, wooden roof, the lad felt dubious. He watched the ancient’s left hand plop an ivory needle into the bowl and let it sink. Finally, curious, he peered into the vessel.
Startled, Govindaram stared at the moon shimmering upon the water’s surface. Feet rooted, he felt himself travel, pulled through the cloudy ripples towards the crescent’s glow.
This piece of flash fiction was written in response to:
- The Sunday Muse #241;
- Fandango’s One-Word Challenge: ‘roof’;
- Ragtag Daily Prompt Saturday: ‘travel’;
- Word of the Day Challenge: ‘guru’;
- The Daily Spur: ‘needle’;
- Your Daily Word Prompt: ‘dubious’;
- Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #293: ‘preposterous’