Happy Sunday! This flash was written last year as a a photo prompt with a strict word count. I’ve added just a few touches, keeping it under 100 words. It seems to fit well with my posts this week, so I hope you enjoy this micro-fiction piece. Cheers!

Spark of the Immortal

The distraction worked perfectly. Two flutes mingled our anthem. “It’s our country, our land!

The crowds bled across the dusty street. Soon the monks would ascend their balconies. Hear the voices below, a show of unity.

Bricks bonded together by force; notes bonded together by will.

The Golden Pagoda evacuated, I threaded my way through the crowd and entered unseen. Once inside, I snagged a hair of the Buddha, leaving behind my own strand.

“Backs crumbled to clay,” I lift three sections of my daughter’s hair adding in the sacred strand.

“The spark of the immortal now passes between our hands,” I recall, and I weave.

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