She takes her first tentative steps onto the runway, foreign territory after a year’s absence.
The crowd erupts in applause at her appearance. She can read their thoughts in their expressions.
She’s beautiful again.
You can’t even tell she was sick.
At the end of the runway she pauses. Reaching up, she pulls the wig from her head, her smooth scalp reflecting the harsh scrutiny of the spotlights.
The expressions change to shock. The applause falters.
Someone is still clapping. One little girl is applauding wildly, a grin on her pale face, a bright bandanna tied around her hairless head.
Well, I’m back from my rather long wander around some Korean islands. It was a wonderful time of hiking, exploring and being alone. Thus, I’m a bit late doing the Fictioneers story this week, but better late than never. I haven’t read any of the other stories in the group yet, so I hope we didn’t have the same idea.
copyright Janet Webb
“It flies,” Rose said, looking out her window at the barn next door.
“Does it indeed?” her mother asked. “It looks rather rundown to me.”
“Well, it used to fly. Dr. Corbeau attacked it with his horde of bamboozles and smashed in the side. I’m going to build a better one though, with rockets, and I’m going to fly it all over the world, even to Easter Island! Do you think I can? Huh?”
“I know you can, dear,” her mother said, moving the pint-sized wheelchair over next to the bed. “Now let’s go. It’s almost time for your chemo.”