The banks of flickering candles hold the prayers of the people, their warmth pushing the wishes high up to heaven. There the angels sift and sort, arrange thoughts and prayers, wants and desires, wishes and hopes, whether selfish or selfless.
It is the prayer of a small child that catches the eye the day this story takes place.
But there is nothing they can do. All the angels do these days is collect, record and file.
The child will have to wait and hope, pray that those in power on earth will change their minds and do something to help.
Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt (see here for other stories):
PHOTO PROMPT © Susan Rouchard
Oh, that's sad. And the child has no hope if it's up to earthly powers to decide his fate.
ReplyDeleteInteresting and original take :)
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