The cloudy ripples

Smiling toothlessly, the ancient guru stared at Govindaram. “Preposterous, boy? Preposterous?”

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:

44 thoughts on “The cloudy ripples”

  1. Hi David, I read this over the weekend, but on my phone I could not get into WordPress to comment and such. I do love this and the magical captivating feel it gives. Have a wonderful week my friend!

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