Landscape in Motion
She was rolling downhill, tumbling over lumps of dewy grass.
Between rolls she saw her mother standing at the top of the hill in a red plaid dress, her hands on her hips. “Anita! Get back up here.”
The tree tumbled, the sky bounced, everything in motion. Beside her mother stood her father and her brother Mikey. Everyone was in movement, like a tumultuous dream. Yet still, watching.
Then something snapped. Pain shot through her shoulder and she came to rest at the bottom of the hill. She felt afraid, as if something sinister had come up from the earth, grabbed her shoulder and broken it.
She lay there for what seemed like a very long time. A bird called from a tree. The breeze whispered over the sweat on her forehead. It was not long until sunset.
Her mother’s harsh voice shattered the gloaming. “Anita! Get up right now!”
She should stand — show them she was fine, and avoid the inevitable spanking — but she could not. Movement felt like a spear piercing her neck.
Thump thump thump. Someone was running downhill toward her. Her father appeared, like a beacon of light at her feet. He bent down and picked her up.
“Ow!”
Father’s brows bunched together. “I think she has broken something.”
Mother called from up on the hill. “She’s fine! She just wants attention.”
Finally, Anita found her voice. “Yes.” It was the last thing she managed to say before she passed out from pain. “Yes, I do.”
Thank you for reading my 250-word micro-fiction story. Your comments are welcome!
I wrote this story when I ran a weekly micro-fiction writing contest, and I would also often contribute my own piece, just for fun.
This story comes from a partial memory I have, from when I was very young — about four years old. My family visited a scenic overlook and while we were there I decided to roll down a hill. Somehow, I broke my collar bone in the process.
It actually didn’t happen just like this. I don’t remember it well enough to tell it. But in writing the memory, I tried to capture the challenging relationship I had with my mother and the calming presence of my father.