This story is in response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge. Writers submit a 200 word story inspired by the photo prompt provided each Sunday. Click the blue frog at the bottom of the post to view all stories for this week and submit your own.
“You know that’s rose quartz AND an angel don’t you?”. With one eyebrow hiked up nearly into her hairline and her mouth scrunched in a smirky slant on the side of her face, it felt more like a test than a simple request for confirmation. When I didn’t immediately respond, she followed up with “Well, you better be careful. If you get that too close to your cold, dark, atheist heart, it may explode into a million tiny shards and blind us both!”. We laughed, probably too hard, but her question and concern were well-founded. What was a lifelong unbeliever doing clutching that tiny idol? How had that “hippie dippy” store, wedged between the coffee shop and self-serve dog grooming facility, finally lured me in to peruse it’s mystic wares? I had been able to successfully navigate past it for years, unaffected by the wafting tendrils of frankincense, sage, and patchouli that, at times, could tickle the senses from more than a block away. I don’t even know what it means to smudge, this place had nothing to offer me! Why had today been different then? How did I end up with her cool, smooth wings resting in my palm?