She’d discovered her three friends intertwined in a drunken Midsummer meadow. She’d been forgotten once again. Her heart cried betrayal.
When had it begun?
She turned the braid and saw the place where her strands had loosened, as theirs grew closer. “There!” she hissed.
Tearing at the strands, she stopped.
She pressed them to her face, inhaling.
Sighing, she set her clever fingers to reworking the braid.
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2017)
Carrot Ranch Prompt (06/29/2017): In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about something frayed. It could be fabric, like a flag or garment. It could also be nerves or temper. What is it to be frayed?