#microfiction #sliceoflife #Azzuragraph

Today when I walked back home, I saw a little girl playing with pebbles. Or a boy. Doesn’t matter. On a big square where people stroll and sit around. The pebbles were placed neatly in a concrete structure, you know, those sculpture-like sitting things. And she was organising her pebbles. Placing them neatly beside each other, changing some, adjusting some. And then she had leaves and small twigs and bits and bobs. Placing them there as well. She was so happy.

Then her father called her, urgently, “Maria, come on! We need to go! Mum’s waiting!” And she started placing her treasure in her pocket, but her father stopped her. “Leave it, you know you can’t bring that home!” And she started sobbing, while she poured out the contents of her pocket and left her treasure in the concrete block. When her father reached her hand and dragged her away, she looked back once more for a silent goodbye.

Except I didn’t see this at all. Just saw a handful of pebbles and twigs and whatnot left behind. But I think I know, I _saw_ what happened. That young girl even for a couple of minutes was really happy, playing.