I’ve been fairly consistent in my entering of the Scottish Book Trust’s 50 words contest. I entered February’s, which features an image of balloons over Myanmar at sunset and asked for a story inspired by the image. In another show of consistency, I was not the winner.
So it goes.
We were drifting heavenward.
The plague would soon spread and before long it would leave only a wasteland below. It didn’t look so bad from up here.
For the moment, we watched the sunset and held each other, carriers and oblivious.