|Image Janet Webb|
The Long Game
They flew furiously, gloriously, soaring, sailing towards the searing sun; unencumbered by grasping gravity, joining the communion of the wind, sharing its soft whispered secrets.
I saw them and realised I’m not like the others. Kin scoff. Say I’m strange. But I am different for a reason. While eternal empires ebbed and flowed I planned.
It may take a thousand years, but, today’s smooth, stripy yellow stone will be transformed.
With whirling water, searing sun and fierce fickle frost, I will be ground down. First, to sand, then wonderful weightless dust. Finally, carried triumphantly aloft, I will be a wasp.
This story was written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields' Friday Fictioneers Challenge