I wrote this for this week’s Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction Challenge: write a story in 100 words. My story clocks in at 97 words. Hope you enjoy!
The child loves to play with bubbles.
She toddles after them, lunging and stumbling, popping them with inexact claps of pudgy hands. Giggling as a faint mist bursts across her skin, then a race to the next bubble.
Her parents pamper their daughter with the game. Relatives warn that the child is being spoiled, corrupted; the exercise in destruction should not continue.
But the parents are blinded by the light of their child’s smile. They will ignore eons of wisdom to hear her laugh.
Even though each bubble is a universe.
And gods really should know better.