By Huina Zheng
My five-year-old daughter sees a wraith by her bed. I follow her gaze: a coat on the rack, its shadow swaying under the streetlight—her fear sways with it. She wants me to banish it.
I remember telling my mother about a monster in my closet. Her face darkened. “Get to bed, or I’ll beat you with a hanger.”
I mumble a string of gibberish. “I’ve cast a protection spell,” I say, draping the coat over my daughter’s shoulders. “A magic cloak. It spreads its wings when monsters come.” We laugh, and I imagine a world where we banish them all.
Love these 101 words. Well done!
Nice ending.
Always loving seeing the cycles broken. Good for this mom – hope she finds the peace she wrapped her daughter in!
Very clever end.
Very good. I hope this gets lots of readers