"I saw it, I'm telling you," Mira insisted, pointing at the gap in the fence between her family's property and the open, unclaimed meadow. "It was right here!"
"Sure it was." David had that smirk on his face that meant he didn't believe her. He was an annoying little goonbag anyway. So what if he didn't believe in fairies? She knew what she'd seen.
"Just because you think you're too old to play Dapple Glen doesn't mean I didn't see what I saw," Mira said, stubbornly. When they were eight-year-olds, growing up next door to one another with nobody else living in the area for miles around, David hadn't cared that he was playing with a girl. He'd been happy enough to build a pretend world with its elfin inhabitants and its imaginary rules. They'd even written it all down, drawing pictures and stapling it together in the Book of Dapple Glen.
That's why Mira didn't want to tell him the strangest thing about what she saw. The little creature she saw struggle to get his shirt free of a fence nail--
He looked just like the picture they'd drawn. She even knew his name. Johnny Woodcutter.
This week's piece was inspired by this photo by Flickr user bernardo.borghetti. This one is really brief, and it's late, but better than nothing... Check for more Flickr Fiction on the sites of The Gurrier, Tea and Cakes, Elimare, Chris, Mina, and TadMack.