To Wish Upon the Wings of a Bird
by jennickels (aka Jen Connelly)
Everyone has a past, a childhood full of memories and potential. Some people spend a lifetime figuring out what they want to do. Some know right from the start. Written for the weekly drabble challenge at writerverse. Prompt: childhood.
don’t own… wish I did, but I don’t. No infringement intended.
Summer 1957, somewhere in rural Minnesota
Little Johnny squatted near the edge of the pond, a long stick in one hand. He was all dirty face and scabby knees, tanned from head to foot, clothed only in cutoff jeans and a torn t-shirt. He rubbed at the sunburn on his neck, poking a fish with the stick. He watched as it quickly changed direction, trying to remember what his grampa had told him about fishing.