“Drat!” he wheezed, at the lateness of the hour and the inconvenience of having once again misplaced his pince-nez. Where in the world was that girl?
It was a steamy September morning, the 193rd repetition of the time-fantasy loop. The Queen would be livid. When, afterall, wasn’t she?
“Drat!” he scurried down the path. He’d do his part, at least.
She was there, at rabbit hole’s edge, swinging her maryjanes and tossing blonde curls.
“Let’s go find Waldo, instead!” she giggled.
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2018)
Microfiction Madness Story Prompt (April 2018): Write a 100 word or less story or poem based on the photo: