One Hundred Honeyrains
Once upon the flutter of a dragonfly wing, Feronia measured her days in drops of honeyrain.
Flower-tall, she learned the sweetness of opening her mouth to the sky while watching toadybulls in an evening storm. Catching the honeyrain on their taffy tongues, they gulped until their gullets ballooned, glowing.
Puddle-hops away, Emmerich popped the throat bubbles of the toadies lining the shore. “Pointless creatures,” he shrugged bitterly, “Stupid rain.” He distended in the gloat of each burst.
In the end, Emmerich died of inflammation. Somewhere closer than you’d think, Feronia tipped her head back for the hundredth time, open.
Originally Written for Round Two of NYC Midnight’s 100-Word Microfiction Challenge in June 2022
(Sharing the submitted draft on Instagram).
100 Word Limit, Written in 24hrs
Parameters Given —
Genre: Fairytale / Fantasy
Must-Use Action: Popping a Bubble
Must-Use Word: “Bitter”
Thank you to my dear friend Marla Horton for your eyes and help in editing this lil story to its final form.