I could see the hallway growing darker.
The New-Age music droned on and on. The soft lighting from the corner zen lamp was becoming increasingly inadequate.
Had she forgotten me?
My session had started eons ago. The once cushiony padded table had become uncomfortable.
I looked at the needles protruding from my elbows and hands...the tip of the needle in my chest.
She had forgotten me.
I thought about my Granddaughter's recent victory reaching the rockwall summit even through her fear.
I held my breath...
...and moving my right arm very, very slowly, began removing the quivering accupuncture needles.
This little story, based on a picture prompt, is linked to Saturday Centus. To read other offerings from this shared prompt, just click here.
Tea in The Garden That Love Built
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