Inspired by today’s Daily Prompt:
Write a piece of fiction describing the incident that gave rise to the phrase, “third time’s the charm.”
Dora walked the labyrinth with her father, her small feet atop his. She read the words for him while he described the images to her, aware of the people staring at them. She was glad it was raining and that they left their umbrella leaning against the entrance of the marble path. The meanies couldn’t see her cry in anger.
Her father picked her up and hoisted her on his shoulders, flipping the long umbrella her way with his foot. She laughed, small hands grabbing the worn curved handle before it hit the ground. An older couple that almost looked like her Nana and Uncle-Uncle, smiled at them. That made her feel a little bit better.
She didn’t expect them to give her some tissues to blow her nose and dry her eyes. The one who looked like Uncle-Uncle took the dirty tissue away while the one who looked like Nana gave her a small package filled with new, colorful tissue – pinks, blues and yellows. Dora and her father thanked her.
What made her feel better was the library’s doors finally opening. She beamed as they passed Mr. Coyote, holding a book as always. Dora removed a couple of tissues and tucked them into Mr. Coyote’s hand, in case he got a cold, too.
The next day was sunny, so Dora walked about the perimeter of the maze, treating the wide bench like a narrow balancing beam from gym class. Her father smiled, waiting for her at the end, lifting her to his shoulders like he always did.
Her father tapped her hand and gave her a couple of pennies, gesturing for her to put them in Mr. Coyote’s hand when they passed. She did, wondering what he was reading today.
The third day, Dora and her father pointed to the rainbow and searched for flowers of matching colors along the path. They almost found them all, except one – no blue, she cried aloud, not that he heard her.
She had nothing to give Mr. Coyote today but a few fallen petals from the flowers they saw. As they left the library, a backpack full of books, Dora’s eyes widened. Mr. Coyote held a bouquet of flowers in his hand, with a silver strand and note that had her name on it.
On the other end of the strand was a charm that included her favorite picture. Her father, with a wink of an eye, mouthed and signed the word ‘magic.’
It certainly was, Dora thought.
More photos may be found here.
- My short story “Platypus” (in Russian) published in “Belgorod Business Class” magazine (second number) | Inside My Glitching Mind